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S. G. and E. L. ELBERT 

Jtrcstitbtl kit ELLA SMITH "ELB ERT 188. 

Jkx iWtmmiixm 




Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2013 

^HE brutalized features of Walter Burton 
were revealed." 



To all Americans who deem purity 
of race an all-important element in 
the progress of our beloved country. 


For obvious reasons the date 
of this story is not given . . . 

2U$t of Jlluattattons; 

"ATHE brutalized features of Walter Burton 
were revealed. 


" jf UCY passed her soft, white arm around 
her grandfather's neck." 

Page 108 

"j|E recklessly rushed in front of Burton." 

*c Page 286 

"JL UCY, I have always loved you/' 

Page 340 


BOSTON was shrouded in a mantle of 
mist that November day, the north-east 
wind bringing at each blast re-enforce- 
ment to the all-enveloping and obscuring mass 
of gloom that embraced the city in its arms of 

' Glimmering like toy candles in the distance, 
electric lights, making halos of the fog, marked 
a pathway for the hurrying crowds that poured 
along the narrow, crooked streets of New En- 
gland's grand old city. In one of the oldest, 
narrowest and most crooked thoroughfares 
down near the wharfs a light burning within the 
window of an old-fashioned building brought to 
sight the name "J- Dimlap" and the words "Ship- 
ping and Banking." 

No living man in Boston nor the father of any 
man in Boston had ever known a day when pass- 



ing that old house the sign had not been there 
for him to gaze upon and lead him to wonder if 
the Dunlap line would last unbroken forever. 

In early days of the Republic some Dunlap 
had in a small way traded with the West Indian 
islands, especially Haiti, and later some descen- 
dant of 'this old trade pathfinder had established 
a regular line of sailing ships between Boston 
and those islands. Then it was that the sign 
"J. Dunlap, Shipping and Banking" made its 
appearance on the front of the old house. A 
maxim of the Dunlap family had been that there 
must always be a J. Dunlap, hence sons were 
ever christened John, James, Josiah and such 
names only as furnished the everlasting J as the 

"J. Dunlap" had grown financially and com- 
mercially in proportion to the growth of the Re- 
public. There was not room on a single line in 
the Commercial Agency books to put A's enough 
to express the credit and financial resources of 
"J- Dunlap" on this dark November day. Abso- 
lutely beyond the shoals and shallows of the 
dangerous shore of trade where small crafts 



financially are forced to ply, "J. Dunlap" sailed 
ever tranquil and serene, neither jars nor shocks 
disturbing the calm serenity of the voyage. 

This dismal November day marked an unpar- 
alleled experience in the career of the present "J. 
Dunlap." The customary calm was disturbed. J. 
Dunlap disagreed and disagreed positively with 
J. Dunlap concerning an important event, and 
that event was a family affair. 

The exterior of "J- Dunlap" may be dark, 
grimy, dingy and old, but within all is bright 
with electric light. Behind glass and wire screens 
long lines of clerks and accountants bend over 
desks and busy pens move across the pages of 
huge ledgers and account books — messengers 
hurry in and out of two glass partitioned offices. 
On the door of one is painted "Mr. Burton, Man- 
ager ;" on the other "Mr. Chapman, Superintend- 

Separated by a narrow passageway from the 
main office is a large room, high ceiling, old- 
fashioned, furnished with leather and mahogany 
fittings of ancient make, on the door of which 
are the words, "J. Dunlap, Private Office." This 



is the sanctum sanctorum in this temple of trade. 
Within "J- Dunlap's" private office before a large 
grate heaped high with blazing cannel coal two 
old men are seated in earnest conversation. They 
are "J. Dunlap." 

Seventy-two years before this November day 
that enfolded Boston with London-like fog there 
were born to one J. Dunlap and his wife twin 
boys to whom were given in due season the 
names of James and John. These boys had grown 
to manhood preserving the same likeness to each 
other that they had possessed as infants in the 
cradle. James married early and when his son 
was born and was promptly made a J. Dunlap, 
his twin brother vowed that there being a J. 
Dunlap to secure the perpetuation of the name, 
he should never marry. 

When the J. Dunlap, father of the twin broth- 
ers, died, the twins succeeded to the business as 
well as the other property of their father, share 
and share alike. To change the name on the 
office window to Dunlap Bros, was never even 
dreamed of; such sacrilege would surely have 
caused the rising in wrath of the long line of 



ghostly "J. Dunlaps" that had preceded the twins. 
Hence on this dark day "J- Dunlap" was two in- 
stead of one. 

Handsome men were all the Dunlaps time out 
of mind, but no ancestor was ever more hand- 
some than the two clean cut, stalwart, white 
haired old men who with eager gestures and 
earnest voices discussed the point of difference 
between them today. 

"My dear brother," said the one whose face 
bore traces of a more burning sun than warms 
the Berkshire hills, ' 'You know that we have never 
differed even in trivial matters, and James, it is 
awful to think of anything that could even be 
called a disagreement, but I loved your poor boy 
John as much as I have ever loved you and when 
he died his motherless little girl became more to 
me than even you, James, and it hurts my heart 
to think of my darling Lucy being within pos- 
sible reach of sorrow and shame." The fairer 
one of the brothers bent over and grasping with 
both hands the raised hand of him who had 
spoken said with an emotion that rilled his eyes 
with moisture : 



"God bless you, John! You dear old fellow! 
I know that that loving heart of yours held my 
poor boy as near to it as did my own, and that 
Lucy has ever been the dearest jewel of your 
great soul, but your love and tenderness are now 
conjuring up imaginary dangers that are simply 
beyond a possibility of existence. While I will 
not go so far as to admit that had I known that 
there was a trace of negro blood in Burton I 
should have forbidden his paying court to my 
granddaughter, still I will confess that I should 
have considered that fact and consulted with you 
before consenting to his seeking Lucy's hand. 
However, it is too late now,, John. He has won 
our girl's heart and knowing her as you do you 
must appreciate the consequences of the disclo- 
sure of this discovery and the abrupt termina- 
tion of her blissful anticipations. It is not only 
a question of the health and happiness of our 
dear girl, but her very life would be placed in 

This seemed an unexpected or unrealized 
phase of the situation to the first speaker, for he 
made no reply at once but sat with troubled 



brow gazing into the fire for several minutes, 
then with a sigh so deep that it was almost a 
groan, exclaimed : 

"Oh! that I had known sooner! I am an old 
fool! I might have suspected this and investi- 
gated Burton's family. John Dunlap, d n 

you for the old idiot that you are," and rising he 
began pacing the floor; his brother watched 
him with eyes of tender, almost womanly affec- 
tion until a suspicious moisture dimmed the 
sight of his worried second self. Going to him 
and taking him by the arm he joined him in his 
walk back and forth through the room, saying: 

"John, don't worry yourself so much old chap, 
there is nothing to fear; what if there be a slight 
strain of negro blood in Burton? It will disap- 
pear in his descendants and even did Lucy know 
all that you have learned, she loves him and 
would marry him anyhow. You know her heart 
and her high sense of justice. She would not 
blame him and really it is no fault of his." 

"You say," broke in his brother, "that the negro 
blood will disappear in Burton's descendants? 
That is just what may not happen! Both in the 



United States and Haiti I have seen cases of 
breeding back to the type of a remote ancestor 
where negro blood, no matter how little, ran in 
the veins of the immediate ancestor. In the ani- 
mal kingdom see the remoteness of the five toed 
horse, yet even now sometimes a horse is born 
with five toes. Man is but an animal of the high- 
est grade." 

"Well, even granting what you say about the 
remote possibility of breeding back, you know 
that our ancestors years ago stood shoulder to 
shoulder with Garrison, Beecher and those grand 
heroes who maintained that the enslavement of 
the negro was a crime, and that the color of the 
skin made no difference — -that all men were 
brothers and equal. " 

"Yes, I know and agree with our forefathers 
in all of that," exclaimed the sun burned J. Dun- 
lap with some show of impatience. "But while 
slavery was all wrong and equality before the 
law is absolutely right, still I have seen both in 
this country and in the West Indies such strange 
evidence of the inherent barbarism in the negro 
race that I am almost ready to paraphrase a 



saying of Napoleon and declare, 'Scratch one 
with negro blood in him and you find a bar- 
barian.' " 

"Your long residence in disorderly Haiti, 
where your health and our interest kept you has 
evidently prejudiced you," replied the fair J. 
Dunlap. "Remember that for generations our 
family has extended the hospitality of our homes 
to those of negro blood provided they were edu- 
cated, cultured people/' 

"Yes, James, Yes ! Provided they had the cul- 
ture and education created by the white man, and 
to be frank between ourselves, James, there has 
been much affectation about the obliteration of 
race distinction even in the case of our own fam- 
ily, and you know it! We Dunlaps have made 
much of our apparent liberality and consistency, 
but in our hearts we are as much race-proud 
Aryans as those ancestors who drove the race- 
inferior Turanians out of Europe." 

James Dunlap was as honest as his more im- 
petuous brother. Suddenly stopping and con- 
fronting him with agitated countenance, he said : 
"You are right, John, in what you say about 



our affecting social equality with those of negro 
blood. God knows had I been aware of the facts 
that you have hastened from Port au Prince to 
lay before me all might have been different ; our 
accursed affectation may have misled Burton, 
who is an honorable gentleman, no matter if his 
mother was an quadroon. Social equality may 
be all right, but where it leads to the intermar- 
riage of the races all the Aryan in me protests 
against it, but it is too late and we must trust to 
Divine Providence to correct the consequences 
of the Dunlap's accursed affectation." 

"I expected Lucy to marry Jack Dunlap, the 

son of our cousin ; then the old sign might have 

answered for another hundred years. Lucy and 

Jack were fond of each other always, and I 

thought when two years ago I left Boston for 

Haiti that the match was quite a settled affair. 

Why did you not foster a marriage that would 

have been so satisfactory from every standpoint ?" 

"I did hope that Lucy would marry your 

namesake, dear brother; don't blame me; while 

I believe that the boy was really fond of my 

granddaughter, still, being poor, and having the 



Dunlap pride he positively declined the position 
in our office that I offered him. I wished to keep 
him near Lucy and to prepare him to succeed us 
as 7- Dunlap.' When I made the offer he said in 
that frank, manly, sailor man fashion of his that 
he was worthless in an office and he wished no 
sinecure by reason of being our kinsman ; that he 
was a sailor by nature and loved the sea; that he 
wished to make his own way in the world; that 
if we could fairly advance him in his profession 
he would thank us, but that was all that he could 
accept at our hands." 

'"'See that now !" exclaimed the listener. "Blood 
will tell. The blood of some old Yankee sailor 
man named Dunlap spoke when our young kins- 
man made that reply. Breed back! Yes indeed 
we do." 

"No persuasion could move the boy from the 
position he had taken and as he held a master's 
certificate and had proven a careful mate I gave 
him command of our ship 'Lucy' in the China 
trade. I imagine there was some exhibition of 
feeling at the parting of Lucy and John, as my 
girl seemed much depressed in spirits after he 



"You recall how Walter Burton came to us fif- 
teen years ago with a letter from his father, our 
correspondent in Port au Prince, saying that he 
wished his son to enter Harvard and asking us to 
befriend him. The lad was handsome and clever 
and we never dreamed of his being other than of 
pure blood. He was graduated at the head of his 
class, brilliant, amiable, fascinating. Our house 
was made bright by his frequent visits. 

"When his father died, leaving his great wealth 
to Walter, he begged to invest it with us, and lik- 
ing the lad we were glad to have him with us. 
Beginning at the bottom, by sheer force of ability 
and industry, within ten years he has become our 
manager. I am sure John Dunlap, your name- 
sake, never told Lucy that he loved her before he 
sailed for China. The pride of the man would 
hold back such a declaration to our heiress. So 
with Jack away, his love, if it exist, for Lucy 
untold, it is not strange that Burton, and he is a 
most charming man, in constant attendance upon 
my granddaughter should have won her heart. 
He is handsome, educated, cultured and wealthy. 
I could imagine no cause for an objection, so 



when he asked for Lucy's hand I assented. The 
arrangements are completed and they will be mar- 
ried next month. Lucy wished you to witness the 
ceremony and wrote you and you hasten from 
Haiti home with this unpleasant discovery. Now, 
John, think of Lucy and tell me, brother, what 
your heart says is our duty." 

James Dunlap, exhausted by the vehement 
earnestness that he had put into this long speech, 
recounting the events and circumstances that had 
led up to the approaching marriage of his grand- 
daughter, dropped into one of the large armchairs 
near the fire, waiting for a reply, while his brother 
continued his nervous tramp across the room. 

Silence was finally disturbed by a light knock 
on the door and a messenger entered, saying that 
Captain Dunlap begged permission to speak with 
the firm a few moments. When the name was an- 
nounced the two brothers exchanged glances that 
seemed to say, "The man I was thinking of." 

"Show him in, of course," cried John Dunlap, 
eagerly stopping in his monotonous pacing up 
and down the room. 

The door opened again and there entered the 



room a man of about twenty-seven years of age, 
rather below the medium height of Americans, 
but of such breadth of shoulders and depth of 
chest as to give evidence of unusual physical 
strength. A sailor, every inch a sailor, anyone 
could tell, from the top of his curly blonde hair 
to the sole of his square toed boots. His sun- 
burnt face, while not handsome, according to the 
ideals of artists, was frank, manly, bold — a brave, 
square jawed Anglo-Saxon face, with eyes of that 
steely gray that can become as tender as a 
mother's and as fierce as a tiger's. 

"Come in, Jack," cried both of the old gentle- 
men together. 

"Glad to see you my boy," added John Dunlap. 
"How did you find your good mother and the 
rest of our friends in Bedford ? I only landed to- 
day; came from Port au Prince to see the Com- 
mons once more; heard that the 'Lucy' and her 
brave master, my namesake, had arrived a week 

ahead of me, safe and sound, from East Indian 

So saying he grasped both of the sailor's hands 
and shook them with the genuine cordiality of a 
lad of sixteen. 



"Have you seen my granddaughter since your 
return, Captain Jack ?" inquired James Dunlap, as 
he shook the young man's hand. 

"I was so unfortunate as to call when she was 
out shopping, and as Mrs. Church, the house- 
keeper, told me that she was so busy preparing 
for the approaching wedding that she was en- 
gaged all the time, I have hesitated to call again," 
replied the sailor, as with a somewhat deeper 
shade of red in his sun burned face he seated him- 
self between the twins. 

"Lucy will not thank Mrs. Church for that 
speech if it is to deprive her of the pleasure of 
welcoming her old playmate and cousin back to 
Boston and home. You must come and dine 
with us tomorrow," said Lucy's grandfather. 

"I am much obliged for your kind invitation, 
sir, but if you will only grant the request I am 
about to make of the firm, my next visit to my 
cousin will be to say goodby, as well as to re- 
ceive a welcome home from a voyage." 

"Why, what do you mean, lad !" exclaimed both 
of the brothers simultaneously. 

Concealment or deception was probably the 


— IIMI — ■■ll—HIIM I'll III II II II Mill 


most difficult of all things for this frank man 
with 'the free spirit of the sea fresh in his soul, so 
that while he answered the color surged up 
stronger and stronger in his face until the white 
brow, saved from the sun by his hat, was as red 
as his close shaven cheeks. 

"Well, sir, this is what I mean. I learned yes- 
terday that the storm we encountered crossing 
the Atlantic coming home had strained my ship 
so badly that it will be two months before she is 
out of the shipwright's hands." 

"What of 'that, Jack," broke in the darker J. 
Dunlap. "Take a rest at home. I know your 
mother will be delighted, and speaking from a 
financial standpoint, as you know, it makes not 
the least difference." 

"I was going to add, sir, that this morning I 
learned that Captain Chadwick of your ship 
'Adams,' now loaded and ready to sail for Aus- 
tralia, was down with pneumonia and could not 
take the ship out, and that there was some diffi- 
culty in securing a master that filled the require- 
ments of your house. I therefore applied to Mr. 
Burton for the command of the 'Adams,' but he 



absolutely refused to consider the application 
saying that as I had been away for almost two 
years, that it would be positively brutal to even 
permit me to go to sea again so soon, and that 
the 'Adams' might stay loaded and tied to the 
dock ten years rather than I should leave home 
so speedily." 

"Burton is exactly right, I endorse every word 
he has said. You can't have the 'Adams' !" said 
James Dunlap with emphasis. "What would 
Martha Dunlap, your mother, and our dear 
cousin's widow, think if we robbed her of her only 
son so soon after his return from a long absence 
from home?" 

"My mother knows, sir, that my stay at home 
will be very brief. She expects me to ask to go 
to sea again almost immediately. I told her all 
about it when I first met her upon my return," 
and as he spoke the shipmaster's gaze was never 
raised from the nautical cap that he held in his 

"Well! You are not going to sea again im- 
mediately, that is all about it. You have handled 
the 'Lucy' for two years, away from home, using 



your own judgment, in a manner that, even were 
you not our kinsman, would entitle you to a long 
rest at the expense of our house as grateful ship- 
owners," said Lucy's grandfather. 

The young man giving no heed to the compli- 
ment contained in the remarks made by James 
.Dunlap, but looking up and straight into the eyes 
of the brother just arrived from Haiti, said so 
earnestly that there could be no question of his 
purpose : 

"I wish to get to sea as soon as possible. If I 
cannot sail in the 'Adams,' much as I dislike to 
leave you, sirs, I must seek other employ." 

"The devil you will!" exclaimed his godfather 

"Why, if you sail now you will miss your 
cousin's wedding and disappoint her," added 
James Dunlap. 

"Again, gentlemen, I say that I shall get to 
sea within a few days. I either go in the 'Adams' 
or seek other employ," and all the time he was 
speaking not once did the sailor remove his 
steady gaze from the eyes of him for whom he 
\vas named. 


umurewgiT yrnnywanmn 


_ — -., .. _- —,..— ■■"■■"— ———^—— 

To say that the Dunlap brothers were aston- 
ished is putting it too mildly; they were amazed. 
The master of a Dunlap ship was an object of 
envy to every shipmaster out of Boston — the pay 
and employ was the best in America — that a kins- 
man and master should even propose to leave 
their employ was monstrous. In amazement both 
of the old gentlemen looked at the young man in 

Suddenly as old John Dunlap looked into 
young John Dunlap's honest eyes he read some- 
thing there, for first leaning forward in his chair 
and gazing more intently into the gray eyes of the 
sailor, he sprang to his feet and grasping the arm 
of his young kinsman he fairly hauled him to the 
window at the other end of the room, then facing 
him around so that he could get a good look at his 
face, he almost whispered: 

"Jack, when did you learn first that Lucy was 
to be married?" 

"When I came ashore at Boston one week 

The answer came so quickly that the question 
must have been read in the eyes of the older man 
before uttered. 



"I thought so," said the old man softly and 
sadly, as he walked, still holding the sailor by 
the arm, back to the fire, and added as he neared 
his brother : 

"James, Jack wants the 'Adams' and is in earn- 
est. I can't have him leave our employ ; therefore 
he must go as master of that ship." 

"But, brother, think of it," exclaimed James 

"There is no but about it, James, I wish him 
to sail in our ship, the 'Adams,' as master. I un- 
derstand his desire and endorse his wish to get 
to sea." 

"Oh ! Of course if you really are in earnest 
just instruct Burton in the premises, but Jack 
must dine with us tomorrow and see Lucy or 
she will never forgive him or me." 

"Don't you see that the lad has always loved 
Lucy, is heartbroken over her marriage and wants 
to get away before the wedding?" cried John 
Dunlap, as he turned after closing the door upon 
Captain Jack's departing figure. 

"What a blind old fool I am not to have seen 
or thought of that !" exclaimed his brother. 



"How I wish in my soul it was our cousin 
that my girl was going to marry instead of Bur- 
ton, but it is too late, too late.' , 

Sadly the darker Dunlap brother echoed the 
words of Lucy's grandfather, as he sank into a 
chair and covered his face with his hands : 

Too late ! Too late ! Too late ! 



YOU don't mean that Mr. Dunlap has con- 
sented to your going out to Australia in 
charge of the 'Adams/ do you, Captain 

The man who asked the question, as he rose 
from the desk at which he was sitting, was quite 
half a head taller than the sea captain whom he 
addressed. His figure was elegant and graceful, 
though slim; his face possessed that rare beauty 
seen only on the canvas of old Italian masters, 
clearly cut features, warm olive complexion in 
which the color of the cheeks shows in subdued 
mellow shadings, soft, velvet-like brown eyes, a 
mouth of almost feminine character and propor- 
tion filled with teeth as regular and white as 
grains of rice. 

Save only that the white surrounding the 
brown of his beautiful eyes might have been 
clearer, that his shapely hands might have been 


■I — — — — —— ^^—— ■ 


more perfect, had a bluish tinge not marred the 
color of his finger nails, and his small feet might 
have been improved by more height of instep, 
Walter Burton was an ideal picture of a graceful, 
handsome, cultivated gentleman. 

"Yes, Mr. Burton, I am to sail as master of 
the 'Adams.' How soon can I get a clearance 
and put to sea ?" 

"It is an absolute outrage to permit you to go 
to sea again so soon. Why, Captain, you have 
had hardly time to get your shore legs. You have 
not seen many of your old friends ; Miss Dunlap 
told me last evening that she had not even seen 

Burton's voice was as soft, sweet and melo- 
dious as the tones of a silver flute, and the 
thought of the young sailor's brief stay at home 
seemed to strike a chord of sadness that gave 
added charm to the words he uttered. 

"I expect to dine with my cousin tomorrow eve- 
ning and will then give her greeting upon my 
home coming and at the same time bid her good- 
by upon my departure." 

"I declare, Jack, this is awfully sad to me, old 



chap, and I know Lucy will be sorely disappoint- 
ed. You know that we are to be married next 
month and Lucy has said a dozen times that she 
wished you to be present; that you had always 
been a tower of strength to her and that nothing 
could alarm or make her nervous if, as she put it, 
'brave and 'trustworthy Jack be near/ " 

The sailor's face lost some of its color in spite 
of the tan that sun and sea had given it, as he 
listened to words that he had heard Lucy say 
when, as a boy and girl, they had climbed New 
Hampshire's' hills, or sailed along Massachusetts' 
coast together. 

"I shall be sorry if Lucy be disappointed, but 
I am so much of a sea-swab now that I am rest- 
less and unhappy while ashore." 

What a poor liar young John Dunlap was. His 
manner, or something, not his words, in that in- 
stant revealed his secret to Burton, as a flash of 
lightning in the darkness discloses a scene, so was 
Jack's story and reason for hurried departure 
from Boston made plain. 

By some yet unexplained process of mental 
telegraphy the two young men understood each 


■■■■■^■■^■■■■■■■wrMWBTirwii««n««a(m»minnriT«i-i<)-iii¥iir ii i — — — — n i — 


other. Spontaneously they extended their hands 
and in their warm clasp a bond of silent sympathy 
was established. Thus they stood for a moment, 
then Burton said in that sad, sweet voice of his : 

"Jack, dear old chap, I will get your clearance 
papers tomorrow and you may put to sea when 
you please, but see Lucy before you sail." 

Ere Dunlap could reply the door of the man- 
ager's office opened and there entered the room 
a man of such peculiar appearance as to attract 
the attention of the most casual observer. He 
was thin, even to emaciation. The skin over his 
almost hairless head seemed drawn as tightly as 
the covering of a drum. The ghastliness of his 
dead-white face was made more apparent by the 
small gleaming black eyes set deep and close to 
a huge aquiline nose, and the scarlet, almost 
bloody stripe that marked the narrow line of his 

"Beg pardon," said the man, seeing someone 
with Burton, and then, recognizing who the visi- 
tor was, added : 

"Oh, how are you, Jack ? I did not know that 
you were with the manager," and he seemed to 



put the faintest bit of emphasis upon the word 

"Well, what is it, Chapman?" said Burton 
somewhat impatiently. 

"I only wished to inform you that I have se- 
cured a mas'ter for the 'Adams.' Captain Mason, 
who was formerly in our employ, has applied for 
the position and as he was satisfactory when with 
us before I considered it very fortunate for us to 
secure his services just now." 

"The 'Adams' has a master already assigned 
to her," interrupted the manager. 

"Why! When? Who?" inquired the superin- 
tendent eagerly. 

"The 'Adams' sails in command of Captain 
Dunlap here." 

The gleaming black eyes of Chapman seemed 
to bury their glances into the very heart of the 
manager as he stretched his thin neck forward 

and asked: 

"Did you give him the ship?" 

"J. Dunlap made the assignment of Captain 
Jack to the ship today at his own request and 
contrary to my wishes," said Burton abruptly, 
somewhat annoyed at Chapman's manner. 



It was now the turn of Jack to stand the "bat- 
tery of those hawk eyes of the superintendent, 
who sought to read the honest sailor's soul as he 
shot his glances into Jack's clear gray eyes. 

"Ah ! Cousin Jack going away so soon and our 
Miss Lucy's wedding next month. How 
strange !" Chapman seemed speaking to himself. 
"If that is all, Chapman, just say to Mason 
that the firm appointed a master to the 'Adams' 
without your knowledge ; therefore he can't have 
the ship," said Burton with annoyance in his tone 
and manner, dismissing the superintendent with a 
wave of his hand toward the door. 

When Chapman glided out of the room, the 
man moved always in such a stealthy manner 
that he appeared to glide instead of walk, Burton 
exclaimed : 

"Do you know, Jack, that that man Chapman 
can irritate me more by his detective demeanor 
than any man I ever saw could do by open insult. 
I am ashamed of myself for allowing such to be 
the case, but I can't help it. To have a chap about 
who seems to be always playing the Sherlock 
Holmes act is wearing on one's patience. Why, 



confound it ! If he came in this minute to say 
that we needed a new supply of postage stamps 
he would make such a detective job of it that I 
should feel the uncomfortable sensation that the 
mailing clerk had stolen the last lot purchased." 

Jack, who disliked the sneaky and secretive as 
much as any man alive and had just been irritated 
himself by Chapman's untimely scrutiny, said : 

"I am not astonished and don't blame you. 
While I have known Chapman all my life, I 
somehow, as a boy and man, have always felt 
when talking to him that I was undergoing an 
examination before a police magistrate." 

"Of course I ought to consider that he has 
been with the house for more than forty years 
and is fidelity and faithfulness personified to 'J. 
Dunlap,' but he is so absurdly jealous and sus- 
picious that he would wear out the patience of a 
saint, and I don't pretend to be one," supplement- 
ed Burton. 

"Half the time," said Jack, glad apparently to 
discuss Chapman and thus avoid the subject 
which beneath the surface of their conversation 
was uppermost in the minds of both Burton and 



"I have not the slightest idea what 'Old 
Chap,' as I call him, is driving at. He 
goes hunting a hundred miles away for the end of 
a coil of rope that is lying at his very feet, and he 
is the very devil, too, for finding out anything he 
wishes to know. Why, when I was a boy and 
used to get into scrapes, if 'Old Chap' cornered 
me I knew it was no use trying to get out of the 
mess and soon learned to plead guilty at once," 
and Jack smiled in a dreary kind of way at the 
recollection of some of his boyish pranks. 

"Well, let old Chapman, the modern Sherlock 
Holmes, and his searching disposition go for the 
present. Promise to be sure to dine with Lucy 
tomorrow evening. She expects me to be there 
also, as she is going to have one or two young 
women and needs some of the male sex to talk 
to them. I know that she will want you all to 
herself," said Burton. 

"Yes, I'll be on hand all right tomorrow night 
and you get my papers in shape during the day, 
as I will sail as early day after tomorrow as the 
tide serves," replied the captain. 

"By the way, Jack ! Send your steward to me 



when you go aboard to take charge of the 
'Adams' in the morning. Tell him to see me 
personally. You sailors are such queer chaps 
and care so little about your larder that I am 
going to see to it myself that you don't eat salt 
pork and hard tack on your voyage out, nor drink 
bilge water, either." 

"You are awfully kind, Burton, but you need 
not trouble yourself. I am sure common sea grub 
is good enough for any sailor-man." 

As they walked together toward the front door, 
when Captain Jack was leaving the building, in 
the narrow aisle between the long rows of desks 
they came face to face with the superintendent. 
He stepped aside and gazing after them, whis- 
pered : 

"Strange, very strange, for Jack Dunlap to 
sail so soon." 

"Be sure to send that steward of yours to me 
tomorrow, Jack," called the manager of "J. Dun- 
lap" as the sturdy figure of the sailor disappeared 
in the fog that filled the crooked street in which 
Boston's oldest shipping and banking house had 
its office. 



— — — — — ■ 

"And no ship ever sailed from Boston provided 
as yours- shall be, poor old chap/' muttered the 
manager as he hurried back to his own room in 
the office. "There shall be champagne enough 
on board the 'Adams,' Jack, to drink our health, 
if you so will, on our wedding day, even though 
you be off Cape Good Hope." 

>js ^c * * * 5J{ # 

In the gloaming that dark November day the 
Dunlap brothers were seated close together, side 
by side, in silence gazing into the heap of coals 
that burned in the large grate before them. 
John Dunlap's hand rested upon the arm of his 
brother, as if in the mere touching of him who 
had first seen the light in his company there was 

Burton thought, as he entered the private of- 
fice that no finer picture was ever painted than 
that made by these two fine old American gen- 
tlemen as the flame from the crackling cannel 
coal shot up, revealing their kind, gentle, gen- 
erous faces in the surrounding gloom of the 

"Pardon me, gentlemen," said the manager, 


pausing on the threshold, hesitating to break in 
upon a scene that seemed almost sacred, "but I 
was told that you had sent for me while I was 
out of the office/' 

"Come in, Burton, you were correctly in- 
formed," said James Dunlap, still neither chang- 
ing his position nor removing his gaze from the 

"My brother John and I have determined as a 
mark of love for our young kinsman, Captain 
John Dunlap,- and as an evidence of our apprecia- 
tion for faithful services rendered to us as mate 
and master, to make him a present of our ship 
'Adams/ now loaded for Australia," continued 
James Dunlap, speaking very low and very soft- 

"You will please have the necessary papers for 
the transfer made out tonight. We will execute 
them in the morning and you will see that the 
proper entry is made upon the register at the 
custom house. Have the full value of the ship 
charged to the private accounts of my brother 
John and myself, as the gift is a personal affair 
of ours and others interested in our house must 



be fully indemnified," continued the old man as 
he turned his eyes and met his brother's assenting 

The flame blazing up in the grate at that mo- 
ment cast its light on Burton's flushed face as he 
listened to the closing sentence of Mr. James 
Dunlap's instructions. 

"Forgive me, sir, but I do not comprehend 
what you mean by 'others interested in our house.' 
I believe other than yourselves I alone have the 
honor to hold an interest in your house," and 
moving forward in the firelight where he would 
stand before the brothers he continued, almost in- 
dignantly, his voice vibrating with emotion : 

"You do me bitter, cruel injustice if you think 
that I do not wish, nay more, earnestly beg, to 
join in this gift. I have learned that today that 
would urge me to plead for permission to share 
in this deed were it of ten times the value of the 
'Adams.' " 

Quickly old John Dunlap, rising from his chair, 
placing his hand on Burton's shoulder and re- 
garding him kindly, said : 

"I am glad to hear you say that, Burton, very 



glad. It proves your heart to be right, but it 
cannot be as you wish. Jack is so sensitive even 
about receiving aid from us, his kinsmen, that 
you must conceal the matter from him, put the 
transfer and new registration with his clearance 
papers and tell him it is our wish that they be 
not opened until he is one week at sea." 

"Could the transfer not be made just in the 
name of the house without explanation? He 
might never think of my being interested," urged 
the manager eagerly. 

"You are mistaken, Walter," said James Dun- 
lap. "Within a month you might see the 'Adams' 
sailing back into Boston harbor. I am sorry to 
deny you the exercise of your generous impulse ; 
we appreciate the intent, but think it best not to 
hamper a gift to this proud fellow with anything 
that might cause its rejection." 

Burton, realizing the truth of the position 
taken by the brothers and the hopelessness of 
gaining Jack Dunlap's consent to be placed 
under obligations to one not of his own blood, 
could offer no further argument upon the subject. 
Dejected and disappointed he turned to leave the 



room to accomplish the wishes expressed by the 
twins. As he reached the door John Dunlap 
called to him. 

''Hold on a minute, Burton. Have we any in- 
terest in the cargo of the 'Adams ?' " 

"About one-quarter of her cargo is agricultural 
implements consigned to our Australian agent for 
the account of the house," quickly answered the 

*' Charge that invoice to me and assign it to 

''Charge it jointly to us both," added James 

"No you don't, James ! We only agreed on the 
ship. John is my godson and namesake. I have 
a right to do more than anyone else," exultantly 
cried the kind hearted old fellow, and for the first 
time that day he laughed as he slapped his brother 
on the shoulder and thought of how he had got- 
ten ahead of him. 

Burton was obliged to smile at the sudden 
anxiety of Mr. John to get rid of him when Mr. 
James began to protest against his brother's sel- 
fishness in wishing to have no partner in the gift 
of the cargo. 



"Now, you just hurry up those papers, Burton. 
Yes, hurry! Run along! Yes, Yes," and so 
saying old Mr. John fairly rushed him out of the 

"How I wish I were Captain Jack's uncle, too," 
thought Burton sadly, with a heart full of gener- 
ous sympathy for the man who he knew loved 
the woman that ere a month would be Mrs. 



OME men have one hobby, some have 
many and some poor wretches have 
none. David Chapman had three hob- 
bies and they occupied his whole mind and heart. 
First in place and honor was the house of J. 
Dunlap. "The pillared firmanent" might fall but 
his fidelity to the firm which he had served for 
forty years could never fail. His was the fierce 
and jealous love of the tigress for her cub where 
the house of Dunlap was concerned. He actually 
suffered, as from mortal hurt, when any one or 
any thing seemed to separate him from this great 
object of his adoration. 

He had ever regarded the ownership of even 
a small interest by Walter Burton as an indig- 
nity, ah outrage and a sacrilege. He hated him 
for defiling the chiefest idol of his religion and 
life. He was jealous of him because he sepa- 
rated in a manner the worshiper from the wor- 



Because solely of jealous love for this High 
Joss of his, Chapman would have gladly, cheer- 
fully suffered unheard of agonies to rid 
the house of J. Dunlap of this irreverent inter- 
loper who did not bear the sacred name of 

The discovery of anything concealed, unrav- 
elling a mystery, ferreting out a secret was the 
next highest hobby in Chapman's trinity of hob- 
bies. He was passionately fond of practicing 
the theory of deduction, and was marvelously 
successful at arriving at correct conclusions. 
No crime, no mystery furnished a sensation for 
the Boston newspapers that did not call into play 
the exercise of this the second and most peculiar 
hobby of Chapman. 

By some strange freak of nature in compound- 
ing the elements to form the character of David 
Chapman, an inordinate love for music was 
added to the incongruous mixture, and became 
the man's third and most harmless hobby. Chap- 
man had devoted years to the study of music, 
from pure love of sweet and melodious sounds. 
In the great and musical city of Boston no one 



excelled him as master of his favorite instru- 
ment, the violoncello. Like Balzac's Herr 
Smucker, in his hours of relaxation, he bathed 
himself in the flood of his own melody. 

Chapman owned, he was not poor, and occu- 
pied with his spinster sister, who was almost as 
withered as himself, a house well down in the 
business section of the city. He could not be 
induced to live in the more desirable suburbs. 
They were too far from the temple of his chiefest 
idol, the house of J. Dunlap. 

"Jack Dunlap sails as master of our ship 
'Adams' day after tomorrow," suggested Chap- 
man meditatively, as he sipped his tea and 
glanced across the table at the dry, almost fos- 
silized, prim, starchy, old lady seated opposite 
him in his comfortable dining room that evening. 

"Impossible, David, the boy has only just ar- 

And the little old lady seemed to pick at the 
words as she uttered them much as a sparrow 
does at crumbs of bread. 

"It is not impossible for it is a fact," replied 
her brother dryly. 



"What is the reason for his sudden departure ? 
Did the house order him to sea again?" pecked 
out the sister. 

"No, that is the strange part of the affair. 
Jack himself especialy urged his appointment to 
the ship sailing day after tomorrow/' 

"Then it is to get away from Boston before 
Lucy is married. I believe he is in love with 
her and can't bear to see her marry Burton." 

Oh ! boastful man, with all your assumed supe- 
riority in the realm of reason and your deductive 
theories and synthetical systems for forming cor- 
rect conclusions. You are but a tyro, a mere 
infant in that great field of feeling where love 
is crowned king. The most withered, stale, neg- 
lected being in whose breast beats a woman's 
heart, by that mysterious and sympathetic some- 
thing called intuition can lead you like the child 
that you are in this, woman's own province. 

"You are entirely wrong, Arabella, as usual. 
Jack never thought of Miss Lucy in that way; 
besides he and Burton are exceedingly friendly ; 
can't you make it convenient to visit your friends 
in Bedford and see Martha Dunlap? If any- 



thing 'be wrong with Jack, and I can help him, I 
shall be glad to do so. The mother may be more 
communicative than the son." 

"I will surely make the attempt to learn if any- 
thing be wrong, and gladly, too; I have always 
loved that boy Jack, and if he be in trouble I 
want you to help him all in your power, David." 
The little old maid's face flushed in the earnest- 
ness of the expression. 

"Burton is still an unsolved problem to me," 
and in saying the words Chapman's jaws moved 
with a kind of snap, like a steel trap, while his 
"eyes had the glitter of a serpent's in them as he 
continued, "for years I have observed him closely 
and I cannot make him out at all. I am baffled 
by sudden changes of mood in the man ; at times 
he is reckless, gay, thoughtless, frivolous, and 
I sometimes think lacking in moral stamina ; 
again he is dignified, kind, courteous, reserved 
and seems to possess the highest standard of 

"I don't suppose that he is unlike other men; 
they all have moods. You do yourself, David, 
and very unpleasant moods, too," said Arabella 



— — — M UM IIII I I !■■! ■■ 

with the proverbial sourness of the typical New 
England spinster. 

"Well, I may have moods, as you say, Ara- 
bella, but I don't break out suddenly in a kind of 
frenzy of gaiety, sing and shout like a street Arab 
and then as quickly relapse into a superlatively 
dead calm of dignity and the irreproachable de- 
meanor of a cultured gentleman. 

"Now, David, you are allowing your dislike 
for Burton and your prejudice to overdraw the 
picture," said prim Miss Arabella, as she daintily 
raised the teacup to her lips. 

"I am not overdrawing the picture! I have 
seen and heard Burton when he thought that he 
was alone in the office, and I say that there is 
something queer about him; Dr. Jekyl and Mr. 
Hyde of that old story are common characters 
in comparison. I knew his father well ; he was 
an every-day sort of successful business man; 
whom his father married and what she was like 
I do not know, but I shall find out some day, as 
therein may lie the reading of the riddle," re- 
torted the brother vehemently. 

"As Lucy Dunlap will be married to the man 



shortly and' it will then be too late to do anything, 
no matter what is the result of your inquiry, it 
seems to me that you should cease to interest 
yourself in the matter," chirped the bird-like 
voice of Miss Arabella. 

"I can't! I am absolutely fascinated by the 
study of this man's strange, incongruous char- 
acter ; you remember what I told you when I re- 
turned from the only visit I ever made at 
Burton's house. It was business that forced me 
to go there, and I have never forgotten what I 
saw and heard. I am haunted by something that 
I cannot define," said Chapman, intensity of feel- 
ing causing his pale face and hairless head to 
assume the appearance of the bald-eagle or some 
other bird of prey. 

"Think of it, Arabella! That summer day as 
I reached the door of his lonely dwelling, sur- 
rounded by that great garden, through the open 
windows there came crashing upon my ears such 
a wild, weird burst of song that it held me mo- 
tionless where I stood. The sound of those musi- 
cal screams of melodious frenzy, dying away in 
rythmic cadence until it seemed the soft summer 



breeze echoed the sweet harmony in its sighing. 
Words, music and expression now wild and un- 
bridled as the shriek of a panther, and then low, 
gentle and soothing as the murmuring of a peace- 
ful brook," cried Chapman, becoming more in- 
tense as his musical memory reproduced the 
sounds he sought to describe. 

"David, you know that music is a passion with 
you, and doubtless your sensitive ear gave added 
accent and meaning to the improvised music of 
a cardess, idle young man," interrupted Miss 

"Not so! Not so! I swear that no careless, 
idle man ever improvised such wild melody; it 
is something unusual in the man ; when at last 
the outburst ceased, and I summoned strength 
to ring' the bell, there was something almost su- 
pernatural that enabled that frenzied musician 
to meet me with the suavity of an ordinary cul- 
tured gentleman of Boston as Burton did when 
I entered his sitting room." 

"Brother, I fear that imagination and hatred 
in this instance are sadly warping your usually 
sound judgment," quietly replied the sedate sis- 



ter, seeing the increasing excitement of her 

''Imagination created also, I suppose, the un- 
canny, "barbaric splendor with which his apart- 
ments were decorated which I described to you," 
sneered the man. 

"All young men affect something of that kind, 
I am told, in the adornment of their rooms," re- 
joined the spinster, mincing her words, and, old 
as she was, assuming embarassment in mention- 
ing young men's rooms. 

"Nonsense ! Arabella, I have seen many of the 
Harvard men's rooms. A few swords, daggers, 
and other weapons ; a skin or two of wild ani- 
mals ; something of that kind, but Burton's apart- 
ments were differently decorated; masses of 
striking colors, gaudy, glaring, yet so blended by 
an artistic eye that they were not offensive to the 
sight. Articles of furniture of such strange, sav- 
age and grotesque shape as to suggest a barbar- 
ian as the designer. The carving on the wood- 
work, the paneling, the tone and impression cre- 
ated by sight of it all were such as must have filled 
the souls of the Spanish conquerors when they 


— — — — g — Ml mi n i i i n ■i ii ibiii 


first gazed upon the barbaric grandeur of the 
Moors, as exposed to their wondering eyes by 
the conquest of Granada." 

"Don't get excited, David!" said staid Miss 
Arabella. "Suppose that you should discover 
something to the discredit of Burton, what use 
could and would you make of it?" 

The veins in Chapman's thin neck and bony 
•brow became swollen and distended as if strain- 
ing to burst the skin that covered them ; his eyes 
flashed baleful fire, as extending his arm and 
grasping the empty air as if it were his enemy, 
he fairly hissed : 

"I ! I ! I would tear him out of the house of 
J. Dunlap, intruder that he is, and cast him into 
the gutter ! Yea ! though I tore the heartstrings 
of a million women such as Lucy Dunlap ! What 
is she or her heart in comparison with the glory 
of Boston's oldest business name?" 

Panting, as a weary hound, who exhausted 
but exultant, fastens his fangs in the hunted stag, 
overcome by the violence of his hatred, David 
Chapman dropped down into his chair. 



Nestling among grand old oaks and profusion 
of shrubbery, now leafless in the November air 
of New England, on the top of the highest hill 
in that portion of the suburbs, sat the "Eyrie," 
the bachelor home of Walter Burton. 

Though the house was small, the conservatory 
adjoining it was one of the largest in the city. 
Burton was an ardent lover of flowers, and an 
active collector of rare plants. The house stood 
in the center of an extensive and well kept gar- 
den through which winding paths ran in every 

The place would have seemed lonely to one 
not possessing within himself resources sufficient 
to furnish him entertainment independent of the 
society of others. 

Burton never knew loneliness. He was an ac- 
complished musician, an artist of more than ordi- 
nary ability, a zealous horticulturist, and an 
omnivorous devourer of books. 

A housekeeper who was cook at the same time, 
one man and a boy for the garden and conserva- 
tory and a valet constituted the household ser- 
vants of the "Eyrie." 


— — — — — — — — a— nan— — m 


At the moment that Chapman's wrathful mind 
was expressing its concentrated hate for him, the 
owner of the white house on the hill sat 'before 
the open grand piano in his music-room, his 
shapely hands wandering listlessly over the keys, 
touching them once in a while in an aimless man- 
ner. The young man's mind was filled with 
other thoughts than music. 

Chapman had drawn an accurate picture of 
Burton's apartments in many respects, yet he had 
forgotten to mention the many musical instru- 
ments scattered about the rooms. Harp, guitar, 
mandolin, violin, banjo and numberless sheets 
of music, some printed and some written, marked 
this as the abode of a natural musician. Burton 
was equally proficient in the use of each of the 
instruments lying about the room, as well as 
being the author of original compositions of great 
beauty and merit. 

The odor of violets perfumed the whole house. 
Great bunches of these, Burton's favorite flower, 
filled antique and queerly shaped vases in each 

Burton ceased to even sound the keys on which 



his hands rested, and as some scene was disclosed 
to fiis sympathetic soul, his soft brown eyes were 
•dimmed by a suspicious moisture. Sighing 
sadly he murmured: 

"Poor Jack ! While I am in a heaven of bliss 
with the woman I love, surrounded by all that 
makes life enjoyable, he, poor old chap, alone, 
heartsick and hopeless, will 'be battling with the 
stormy waves of the ocean. Alas! Fate how 
inscrutable !" 

As his mind drifted onward in this channel of 
thought, he added more audibly, "What a heart 
Jack has ! There is a man ! He will carry his 
secret uncomplaining and in silence to his grave, 
that, too, without permitting envy or jealousy 
to fill his soul with hatred ; I would that I could 
do something to assuage the pain of that brave 
heart." And at the word "brave" the stream of 
his wandering fancy seemed to take a new direc- 

"Brave! Men who have sailed with him say 
he knows no fear ; the last voyage they tell how 
lie sprang into the icy sea, all booted as he was, 
waves mountain high, the night of inky black- 



ness, to save a worthless, brutal Lascar sailor. 
Tender as a woman, when a mere child as careful 
of baby Cousin Lucy as a granddame could be, 
and ever 'her sturdy little knight and champion 
from babyhood. Poor Jack !" 

Again the current of his thought changed its 
course. He paused and whispered to himself, 
"Lucy, am I worthy of her? Shall I prove as 
kind, as true and brave a husband as Jack would 
be to her? Oh! God, I hope so, I will try so 
hard. Sometimes there seems to come a strange 
inexplicable spell over my spirit — a something 
that is beyond my control. A madness seems to 
possess my very soul. Involuntarily I say and 
do that, during the time that this mysterious 
influence holds me powerless in its grasp, that is 
so foreign to my natural self that I shudder and 
grow sick at heart at the thought of the end to 
which it may lead me." 

At the recollection of some horror of the past 
the young man's face paled and he shivered as 
if struck by a cold blast of winter wind. 

"Ought I to tell Lucy of these singular mani- 
festations? Ought I to alarm my darling con- 



cerning something that may partly be imaginary ? 
I am uncertain what, loving her as I do, is right ; 
I can always absent myself from her presence 
when I feel that hateful influence upon me, and 
perhaps after I am married I may be freed from 
the horrible thraldom of that irresistible power 
that clutches me in its terrible grasp. I cannot 
bear the idea of giving my dear love useless pain 
or trouble. Had I not better wait?" 

At that moment some unpleasant fact must 
have suggested itself or rather forced itself upon 
Burton's mind for he pushed back the piano-stool 
and rising walked with impatient steps about the 
room, saying: 

"It would be ridiculous! Absurd! Really 
unworthy of both Lucy and myself even to men- 
tion the subject! Long ago that old, nonsensical 
prejudice had disappeared, at least among culti- 
vated people in America. There is not a shade 
of doubt but that both the Messrs. Dunlap and 
Lucy are aware of the fact that my mother was 
a quadroon. Doubtless that circumstance is 
deemed so trivial that it never has occurred to 
them to mention it to me. People of education 



and refinement, regardless of the color of skin, 
are welcome in the home of the Dunlaps as every- 
where else where enlightenment has dispelled 

He paused and bursting into a musical and 
merry laugh at something that his memory re- 
called, exclaimed, 

"Why, I have seen men and women as black 
as the proverbial 'ace of spades,' the guests of 
honor in Mr. James Dunlap's house, as elsewhere 
in Boston. I shall neither bore nor insult the 
intelligence of my sweetheart or her family by 
introducing the absurd subject of blood in con- 
nection with our marriage. The idea of blood 
making any difference ! Men are neither hounds 
nor horses!" 

Laughing at the odd conceit that men, hounds 
and horses should be considered akin by any one 
not absolutely benighted, he resumed his seat at 
the piano and began playing a gay waltz tune 
then popular with the dancing set of Boston's 
exclusive circle. 

As Burton ended the piece of music with a 
fantastic flourish of his own composition, he 



turned and saw his valet standing silently waiting 
for his master to cease playing. 

"Ah! Victor, are the hampers packed care- 
fully?" exclaimed Burton. 

"Yes, sir," replied the valet, pronouncing his 
words with marked French accent. "The stew- 
ard at your club furnished all the articles on the 
list that the housekeeper lacked, sir." 

"You are sure that you put in the hampers the 
'44' vintage of champagne, the Burgundy im- 
ported by myself, and you examined the cigars 
to be certain to get only those of the last lot from 

"Quite sure, sir; I packed everything myself, 
as you told me you were especially anxious to 
have only the very best selected," said the little 

"Now, listen, Victor; tomorrow I dine away 
from home, but before I leave the house I shall 
arrange a box of flowers, which, with the ham- 
pers, you are to carry in my dog-cart to Dunlap's 
wharf and there you are to have them placed in 
the cabin of the ship 'Adams.' You will open the 
box of flowers and arrange them tastefully, as I 



know you can, about the \ master's stateroom — 
take a half-dozen vases to put them in." 

"Very good, sir; it shall be done as you say, 
sir," answered the valet bowing and moving to- 
ward the door. 

"Hold on, Victor!" called Burton, "I wish to 
add just this : if by any accident, no matter what, 
you fail to get these things on board the 'Adams' 
before she sails, my gentle youth, I will break 
your neck." 

So admonished the servant bowed low and left 
the room, as his master turned again to the piano 
and began to make the room ring with a furious 
and warlike march. 



THE United States is famous for its beau- 
tiful women, but even in that councry 
where beauty is the common heritage of 
her daughters, Lucy Dunlap's loveliness of face 
and figure shone as some transcendent planet in 
the bright heavens of femininity where all are 

"How can you be so cruel, Jack, as to run away 
to sea again so soon and when I need you so 

The great hazel eyes looked so pleadingly into 
poor Jack's that he could not even stammer out 
an excuse for his departure. 

Sailors possibly appreciate women more than 
all other classes of men. They are so much 
without their society that they never seem to re- 
gard them as landsmen do, and Lucy Dunlap was 
an exceptional example of womankind to even 
the most blase landsman. Small wonder then 



that sailor Jack, confused, could only gaze at the 
lovely being before him. 

Lucy Dunlap, though of the average height of 
women, seemed taller, so round, supple and elas- 
tic were the proportions of her perfect figure. 
The charm of intellectual power gave added 
beauty to a face whose features would have 
caused an artist to realize that the ideal model did 
not exist alone in the land of dreams. 

In the spacious drawing-room of Dunlap's 
mansion were gathered those who had enjoyed 
the sumptuous dinner served that evening in 
honor of their sea-faring kinsman. Mr. John 
Dunlap was relating his experiences in Port au 
Prince to his old friend, Mrs. Church, while his 
brother, with that old-fashioned courtliness that 
became him so well, was playing the cavalier to 
Miss Winthrop, one of his granddaughter's 
pretty friends. Walter Burton was bending over 
Miss Stanhope, a talented young musician, who, 
seated before the piano, was scanning a new 
piece of music. 

There seemed a mutual understanding between 
all of those present that Lucy should monopolize 



her cousin's attention on this the first occasion 
that she had seen him for two years, and proba- 
bly the last for a like period of time. In a far 
corner of the great room Jack and Lucy were 
seated when she asked the question mentioned, 
to which Jack finaly made awkward answer by 
saying : 

"Oh ! well, Lucy, I am not of much account at 
social functions. I should only be in some one's 
way. I fancy my proper place is the quarter-deck 
of a ship at sea." 

"Don't be absurd, Jack ! You know much bet- 
ter than that," said his cousin, glancing at the 
manly, frank face beside her, the handsome, curly 
blonde head carried high and firm, and the grand 
chest and shoulders of the man, made more no- 
ticeable by the close fitting dress coat that he 

"Why, half the women of our set in Boston 
will be in love with you if you remain for my 
wedding. Please do, Jack. I will find you the 
prettiest sweetheart that your sailor-heart ever 

"I am awfully sorry, little cousin, to disappoint 



you, as you seem to have expected me to be pres- 
ent at your wedding," said Jack manfully, at- 
tempting to appear cheerful. 

"And as for the sweetheart part of your sug- 
gestion, it may be ungallant to say so, but I don't 
believe there is any place in my log for that kind 
of an entry. " 

"How odd it is, Jack, that you have never been 
in love ; why, any woman could love you, you big- 
hearted handsome sailor." 

Lucy's admirino" glances rested upon the face 
of her cousin .as innocently as when a little maid 
she had kissed him and said that she loved him. 

"Yes, it is rather odd for a man never to love 
some woman, but I can't say that I agree that 
any woman could or would love me," answered 
Jack dryly, as he smiled at the earnest face 
turned toward him. 

Miss Stanhope played a magnificent symphony 
as only that clever artist could ; Walter Burton's 
clear tenor voice rang out in an incomparable 
■solo from the latest opera, but Lucy and Jack, 
oblivious to all else, in low and confidential tones 
conversed in the far corner of the room. 



As of old when she was a child, Lucy had nes- 
tled down close to her cousin and resting one 
small hand upon his arm was artlessly pouring 
out the whole story of her love for Walter Bur- 
ton, her bright hopes and expectations, the joy 
that rilled her soul, the happiness that she saw 
along the vista of the future ; all with that free- 
dom from reserve that marks the exchange of 
confidences between loving sisters. 

The day of the rack and stake has passed, but 
as long as human hearts shall beat, the day of 
torture can never come to a close; Jack listened 
to the heart story of the innocent, confiding 
woman beside him, who, all unaware of the tor- 
ture she was inflicting, painted the future in 
words that wrung more agony from his soul than 
rack or stake could have caused his body. 

How bravely he battled against the pain that 
every word brought to his breast! Pierced by 
a hundred darts he still could meet the artless 
gaze of those bright, trusting, hazel eyes and 
smile in assurance of his interest and sympathy. 

"But of course my being married must make 
no difference with you, Cousin Jack. You must 



■love me as you always have," she said, as if the 
thought of losing something she was accustomed 
to have just occurred to her mind. 

"I shall always love you, Lucy, as I ever have." 
The sailor's voice came hoarse and deep from the 
broad breast that rose and fell like heaving bil- 

"You know, Jack, that you were always my 
refuge and strength in time of trouble or danger 
when I was a child, and even with dear Walter 
for my husband I still should feel lost had I not 
you to call upon." Lucy's voice trembled a little 
and she grasped Jack's strong arm with the hand 
that rested there while they had been talking. 

"You may call me from the end of the earth, 
my dear, and feel sure that I shall come to you," 
said Jack simply, but the earnest manner was 
more convincing to the woman at his side than 
fine phrases would have been. 

"Oh! Jack! what a comfort you are, and how 
much I rely upon you. It makes me quite strong 
and brave to know that my marriage will make 
mo change in your love for me." 

"As long as life shall last, my cousin, I shall 



love you," replied the man almost sadly, as be 
placed his hand over her's that held his arm. 

"Or until some day you marry and your wife 
becomes jealous," added Lucy laughing. 

"Or until I marry and my wife is jealous," 
repeated Dunlap with the faintest kind of em- 
phasis upon "until." 

Miss Stanhope began to play a waltz of the 
inspiring nature that almost makes old and gouty 
feet to tingle, and is perfectly irresistible to the 
young and joyous. Burton and Miss Winthrop 
in a minute were whirling around the drawing- 
room. How perfectly Burton could dance; his 
easy rythmic steps were the very poetry of mo- 
tion. Lucy and Jack paused to watch the hand- 
some couple as they glided gracefully through 
the room. 

"Does not Walter dance beautifully?" ex- 
claimed Lucy as she followed the dancers with 
admiring glances. 

"Bertie Winthrop, who was at Harvard with 
Walter, says that when they were students and 
had their stag parties if they could catch Walter 
in what Bertie calls 'a gay mood,' he would as- 



tonish them with his wonderful dancing. Bertie 
vows that Walter can dance any kind of thing 
from a vulgar gig to an exquisite ballet, but he 
is so awfully modest about it that he denies Ber- 
tie's story and will not dance anything but the 
conventional," continued Lucy. 

"Take a turn, Jack !" called Burton as he and 
his partner swept by the corner where the sailor 
and his cousin were seated, and added as he 
passed, "It is your last chance for some time." 

"Come on, Jack," cried Lucy springing up and 
extending her hands. A moment more and Jack 
was holding near his bosom the woman for 
whom his heart would beat until death should still 
it forever. 

Oft midst the howling winds and angry waves, 
when 'storm tossed on tfhe sea, will Jack dream 
o'er again the heavenly bliss of those few mo- 
ments when close to his heart rested she who 
was the beacon light of his sailor's soul. 

When the music of the waltz ended, Jack and 
his fair partner found themselves just in front 
of the settee where John Dunlap and Mrs. 
Church were seated, 



"Uncle John, I have been trying to induce Jack 
to stay ashore until after my wedding," said 
Lucy addressing Mr. John Dunlap who had been 
following her and her partner with his eyes, in 
which was a pained expression, as they had cir- 
cled about the room. 

"Won't you help me, Uncle John ?" added the 
young woman in that pleading seductive tone 
that always brought immediate surrender on the 
part of both her grandfather and granduncle. 

"I am afraid, Lucy, that I can't aid you this 
time," replied the old gentleman and there was 
so much seriousness in his sun-burnt face that 
Lucy exclaimed anxiously : 

"Why? What is the matter that the house 
must send Cousin Jack away almost as soon as he 
gets home?" 

"Nothing is the matter, dear, but it is an op- 
portunity for your cousin to make an advance- 
ment in his profession, and you moist not be 
selfish in thinking only of your own happiness, 
my child. You know men must work and 
women must wait," replied her uncle. 

"Oh! Is that it? Then I must resign myself 



witfh good grace to the disappointment. I would 
not for the world have any whim of mine mar 
dear old Jack's prospects," and Lucy clasped 
both of her dimpled white hands affectionately 
on her cousin's arm, which she still retained after 
the waltz ended, as she uttered these sentiments. 

"I know Jack would make any sacrifice for me 
if I really insisted." 

"I am sure tfhat he would, Lucy, so don't in- 
sist," said John Dunlap very seriously and posi- 

Just then Burton began singing a mournfully 
sweet song, full of sadness and pathos, accom- 
panying himself on a guitar that had been lying 
on the music stand. All conversation ceased. 
Every one turned to look at the singer. What a 
mellow, rich voice had Walter Burton. What 
expression he put into the music and words ! 

What a handsome man he was ! As he leaned 
forward holding the instrument, and lightly 
touching the strings as he sang, Lucy thought 
him a perfect Apollo. Her eyes beamed with 
pride and love as she regarded her future hus- 

6 4 


None noticed the flush and troubled frcwn on 
old John Dunlap's face. Burton's crossed legs 
had drawn his trousers tightly around the limb 
below the knee, revealing an almost total absence 
of calf and that the little existing was placed 
higher up than usually is the case. That pecul- 
iarty or something never to be explained had 
brought some Haitian scene back to the memory 
of the flushed and frowning old man and sent a 
pang of regret and fear through his kind heart. 

"God bless and keep you, lad! Jack, you are 
the last of the Dunlaps," said Mr. John Dunlap 
solemnly as they all stood in the hall when the 
sailor was leaving. 

"Amen ! most earnestly, Amen !" added Mr. 
James Dunlap, placing his hand on Jack's 

"Good-by! dear Jack," said Lucy sorrowfully 
while tears rilled her eyes, when she stood at the 
outer door of the hall holding her cousin's hand. 

"Think of me on the twentieth of next month, 
any wedding day," she added, and then drawing 
the hand that she held close to her breast a*s if 
still clinging to some old remembrance and anx- 



ious to keep fast hold of the past, fearful that it 
would escape her, she exclaimed : 

"Remember, you are still my trusty knight and 
champion, Jack!" 

"Until death, Lucy," replied the man, as he 
raised the little white hand to his lips and rev- 
erently kissed it. 

She stood watching the retreating figure until 
it was hidden by the gloom of the ghostly elms 
that lined the avenue. As she turned Burton 
was at her side. 

"How horribly lonely Jack must be, Walter," 
she said in pitying tones- 

"More so than even you realize, Lucy," re- 
joined Burton sadly. 

Alone through the darkness strode a man with 
a dull, hard, crushing pain in his brave, faithful 

*-Jx * *^C 3$» 5JC 5jC 5jC *f* 

"The child will be ruined," said all the old 
ladies of the Dunl'aps' acquaintance when they 
learned that it had been determined by the child's 
grandfather to keep the motherless and father- 
less little creature at home with him, rather than 



send 1 her to reside with some remote female mem- 
bers of her mother's family. 

"Those two old gentlemen will surely spoil 
her to that degree that she will be unendurable 
when she becomes a young woman," asserted the 
women with feminine positiveness. 

"They will make her Princess of the house of 
Dunlap, I suppose," added the most acrimonious. 

To a degree these predictions were verified by 
the result, but only to a degree. The twin 
brothers almost worshiped the beautiful little 
maiden, and did in very fact make her their Prin- 
cess, and so, too, was she often called; but possi- 
bly through no merit in the management of the 
brothers, probably simply because Lucy was not 
spoilable was the desirable end arrived at that 
she grew to be a most amiable and agreeable 

The son of Mr. John Dunlap, the father of 
Lucy, survived but one year the death of his wife, 
which occurred when Lucy was born. Thus her 
grandfather and uncle became sole protectors and 
guardians of the child ; that is until the lad, Jack 
Dunlap, came to live at the house of his god- 



Young Jack was the only child of a second 
cousin oi the twin brothers ; his father had been 
lost at sea when Jack was yet a Ibaby. His 
mother, Martha Dunlap, had gladly availed her- 
self of the kind offer of the boy's kinsman and 
godfather, when 'he proposed that the boy should 
come and live with him in Boston, where he could 
obtain better opportunities for securing an edu- 
cation than he could in the old town of Bedford. 

Jack was twelve years of age when he became 
an inmate of the Dunlap mansion, and a robust, 
sturdy little curly haired chap 'he was ; Princess 
Lucy's conquest was instantaneous. Jack imme- 
diately enrolled himself as the chief henchman, 
servitor and guard of the pretty fairy-like maid 
of six years. No slave was ever more obedient 
and humble. 

Great games awoke the echoes through Dun- 
l&p's stately old dwelling ; in winter the lawn was 
converted into a slide, the fish-pond into a skat- 
ing-rink; in summer New Hampshire's hills 
reverberated with the merry shouts of Jack and 
"Princess" Lucy or flying over the blue waters 
of the bay in the yacht that his godfather had 



given him Jack, aided by Lucy's fresh young 
voice, sang rollicking songs of the sea. 

The old gentlemen dubbed Jack, "Lucy's 
Knight," and were always perfectly satisfied 
when the little girl was with her cousin. 

"He is more careful of her than we are our- 
selves," they would reply when speaking of Jack 
and his guardianship. 

All the fuming of Miss Lucy's maids and the 
complaints of Miss Lucy's governess availed 
nothing, for even good old Mrs. Church joined 
in the conspiracy of the grandfather and uncle, 
saying : 

"She is perfectly safe in Jack's care, and I 
wish to see rosy cheeks rather than hear Emer- 
sonian philosophy from our pet." 

Notwithstanding the "lots of fun," as Jack 
used to call their frolics, Lucy and Jack did good 
hard work with their books, music and "all the 
rest of it," as the young people called drawing 
and dancing. 

When Jack became twenty years of age, and 
was prepared to enter Harvard college, whe 
Mr. John Dunlap proposed to send him, he made 

6 9 


his appearance one day in the city and asked to 
see his kind kinsman. 

"I thank you, sir, for your great kindness in 
offering to place me in Harvard College, a's I 
do for all the countless things you have done for 
me, but I can't accept your generous proposition. 
You will not be angry, I am sure, for you know, 
I hope, how grateful I am for all you have done. 
But, sir, I have a widowed mother and I wish to 
go to work that I may earn money for her and 
obtain a start in life for myself," said Jack with 
boyish enthusiasm when admitted to the presence 
of Mr. John Dunlap. 

Though the old gentleman urged every argu- 
ment to alter Jack's determination, the boy stood 
firmly by what he had said. 

"You are my namesake, the only male repre- 
sentative of our family; neither you nor your 
mother shall ever want. I have more money 
than I need." Many other inducements were 
offered still the young man insisted upon the 
course that he laid out for himself. 

"I am a sailor's son and have a sailor's soul; 
x wish to go to sea," Jack finally exclaimed. 



Both of tfhe twins loved Jack. He had been 
so long in their house and so closely associated 
with Lucy that he seemed more to them than, a 
remote young kinsman. 

Finding Jack's decision unalterable, a compro- 
mise was effected on the subject. Jack should 
sail in one of their coasting ships, and when on 
shore at Boston continue to make their house his 

Great was the grief of Lucy at parting with 
her Jack, as she called him. But consoling her- 
self with the thought that she should see him 

often and that the next autumn she should be 
obliged to leave Boston for some dreadful semi- 
nary and thus they would be separated under any 
circumstances, she dried her eyes and entered 
with enthusiasm into his preparations for sea, 
saying, "I have a good mind to dress up as a boy 
and go with Jack ! I declare I would do it, were 
it not for grandfather and Uncle John." 

Jack^s kit on his first voyage was a marvel in 
the way of a sailor's outfit; Lucy had made a 
bankrupt of herself in the purchase of the most 
extraordinary handkerchiefs, caps, shirts and 
things of that kind that could be found in Bos- 



ton, saying proudly to Mrs. Church when dis- 
playing the assortment: 

"Nothing is too good for my sailor boy." 

After several years of sea service Mr. James 
Dunlap, during the residence of his brother in 
Haiti, had tendered to Jack a position in the office, 
hoping that having seen enough of the ocean he 
would be willing to remain ashore and possibly 
with a half- formed hope that Jack would win 
Lucy's hand and thus the house of Dunlap con- 
tinue to survive for other generations. 

Much to the chagrin of Lucy's grandfather, 
Jack absolutely refused to entertain the proposi- 
tion, saying: 

I should be of no earthly use in the office. I am. 
not competent to fill any position there, and I 
positively will not accept a sinecure. If you 
wish to advance me, do so in the line of my pro- 
fession ! Make me master of your ship Lucy 
anid let me take her for a two years' cruise in 
Eastern waters." 

Thus it happened that Jack was absent from 
Boston for two years and returned to find that 
he had lost that, that all the gold of El Dorado 
could not replace — the woman whom he loved. 



MOTHER SYBELLA, Mother Sybella! 
May I approach? yelled every few min- 
utes the man seated on a rock half way 
up the hill that rose steep from the Port au 
Prince highway. 

The neglected and broken pavement of the 
road that remained as a monument to the long- 
departed French governors of Haiti was almost 
hidden by the rank, luxurious growth of tropical 
plants on either side of it. As seen from the 
hillside, where the man was sitting, it seemed 
an impracticable path for even the slowly moving 
donkeys which here and there crawled between 
the overhanging vegetation. 

The man looked neither to the right nor to the 
left, but throwing back his head, at intervals of 
possibly fifteen minutes, as if addressing the 
blazing sun above, bawled out at the top of his 



"Mother Sybella! Mother Sybella! May I 
approach ?" 

The man was a mulatto, though with features 
markedly of the negro type ; around his head he 
wore a much soiled white handkerchief. His 
body was fairly bursting out of a tight-fitting 
blue coat of military fashion, adorned with im- 
mense brass buttons. His bare feet and long 
thin shanks appeared below dirty duck trousers 
that once had been white. 

There evidently was something awe-inspiring 
about the name, that be shouted even though the 
rest of the words were unintelligible to the na- 
tives. The man shouted his request in the 
English language; the natives of Haiti used a 
jargon of French, English and native dialect 
difficult to understand 1 and impossible to describe 
or reproduce in writing. 

If, when the man called, a native were passing 
along the highway, a)s sometimes happened, he 
would spring forward so violently as to endanger 
the safety of the huge basket of fruit or vegeta- 
bles that he carried upon his head, and glancing 
over his shoulder with dread in his distended, 



white and rolling eyes, would break into a run 
and speed forward as if in mortal terror. 

The man had just given utterance to a louder 
howl than usual when he felt the grip of bony 
claw-like fingers on his shoulder; with one un- 
earthly yell he sprang to his feet, turned and fell 
upon his knees before the figure that so silently 
had stolen to his side. 

"Has the yellow dog brought a bone to his 
mother?" The word's were spoken in the patois 
of the native Haitians with which the man was 

The speaker was a living, animated but mum- 
mified black crone of a woman. She leaned 
upon a staff made of three human thigh bones, 
joined firmly together by wire. Her fleshless 
fingers looked like the talons of a vulture as she 
gripped the top of her horrid prop and bent for- 
ward toward the man. 

Her age seemed incalculable in decades; cen- 
turies appeared to have passed since she was 
born. The wrinkles in her face were as gashes 
in black and aged parchment, so deep were they. 
The skin over her toothless jaws was so drawn 



and stretched by untold time that the very hinges 
of the jaw were plainly traced; in caver- 
nous, inky holes dug deep beneath the retreating 
forehead sparkled, like points of flame, eyes so 
bright and glittering that sparks of electric fire 
shot forth in the gaze by which she transfixed 
the groveling wretch at foer feet. 

"Answer, Manuel ; what have you brought for 
Mother Sybella?" 

Finally the startled and fearful Manuel found 
courage to reply: 

"The coffee, " sugar, ham' and calico are in that 
bundle lying over there, Mother Sybella," and the 
man pointed to a roll of matting near him. 

"And I told you to gather all the gossip and 
news of Port au Prince. Have you done so?" 
queried the hag with a menacing gesture. 

"Yes ! yes ! Mother ; every command has been 
obeyed. I have learned what people are talking 
of, and, too, I have brought some printed talk 
from' among the Yankees," cried the mulatto 
quickly, anxious to propitiate the crone. 

"Fool, you know I can't make out the Yankee 
printed talk," snarled the sunken lips. 

7 6 


"I can though, Mother Sybella ; I lived among 
the Yankees many years. I will tell you what 
they talk of concerning our country," said the 
man rising from his knees. 

"I will listen here in the sun's rays ; I am cold. 
Sit there at my feet," mumbled the hag, crouch- 
ing down on the rock that had been occupied by 

"Begin," she commanded fiercely, fixing her 
keen gaze upon the yellow face below her. 

"Dictator Dupree is unable to obtain money to 
pay the army; the Yankees and English will not 
make a loan unless concessions be made to the 

"What says Dupree?" muttered the old 

"Dupree fears an insurrection of the people 
if he make concession's to the whites, and an out- 
break by the army if he fail to pay the arrears 
due to it. He is distracted and knows not which 
move to make," answered the yellow man at the 
hag's feet. 

"Dupree is a coward! Let him come to me 
and see how quickly his difficulties disappear! 



The army is worthless, the people powerful," 
cried Sybella. 

"Go on! Squash-head," she ordered. 

"Twenty priests, with a Bishop at their head, 
have come from France, and go among the peo- 
ple urging them to attend the churches, and 
threatening them with awful punishment here- 
after if they fail to heed the commands of the 
priests," continued Manuel. 

"Much goo'd may it do the black-gowns," 
chuckled the old creature, making a horrible 
grimace in so doing. 

"My children fear Sybella more than the black- 
gowns' hell," she cackled exultantly. 

"The priests are trying to persuade the Dic- 
tator to give them permission to re-open those 
schools that have been closed so long, but Dupree 
'has not consented yet. He seems to fear the 
anger of the black party in Haiti," said the 
witch's newsman. 

"He does well to hesitate !" exclaimed Sybella. 

"If he consent, I shall set up my altar, call my 
children around me and then! and then! No 
matter, he is a coward ; he will never dare con- 



sent," she added. The mulatto here drew from 
his bosom a newspaper. Shading his eyes from 
the sun's glare, he began searching for any item 
of news in the Boston paper that he had secured 
in Port au Prince, which miglit interest his terri- 
fying auditor. 

"Do you wish to know about the Yankee Presi- 
dent and Congress?" he asked humbly, pausing 
as he turned the sheet of the newspaper. 

"No ! you ape, unless they mention our island," 
replied the woman, her watchful eyes looking 
curiously at the printed paper that the man held. 

"About the ships coming and going between 
the United States and Haiti?" he asked anx- 
iously, as if fearing that he might miss some- 
thing of importance to the black seeress. 

"No ! That is an old story ; the accursed Yan- 
kees are ever coming and going, restless fools," 
said the woman. 

"Here is a long account of a grand wedding 
of a wealthy Haitien that has just taken place in 
Boston. He married the granddaughter and 
heiress of J. Dunlap, who is largely interested 
in our island," remarked Manuel interrogatively. 



"His name ! fool, his name !" almost screamed 
the hag, springing to her feet with an agility 
fearful to contemplate in one so decrepit, sug- 
gesting supernatural power to the beholder. 
Manuel, with trembling lip, cried, as she fastened 
him in the shoulder with her claws: 

"Burton! Walter Burton !" 

Without changing, by even a line her fingers 
from the place where she had first fixed them in 
the flesh of the frightened man, she dragged 
him, bulky as he was, to his feet, and up the 
steep, pathless hillside with a celerity that was 
awful to the frightened mulatto. 

A deep ravine cutting into the back of the hill 
formed a precipice. Along the face of the rocky 
wall thus formed a narrow, ill-defined footway 
ran, almost unsafe for a mountain goat. Nearly 
a thousand feet below, dark and forbidding in 
the gloom of jungle and spectral moss-festooned 
trees, roared the sullen mutterin'gs of a mountain 

When near the top of the hill, with a quick 
whirl the black crone darted aside and around 
the elbow of the hill, dragging Manuel along at 



a furious pace, she dashed down the precipitous 
path with the swiftness and confidence of an Al- 
pine chamois. 

Half way down the cliff, a ledge of rock made 
scanty foundation for a hut of roughly hewn 
saplings, thatched with the palm plants of the 
ravine below. So scarce was room for the hovel 
that but one step was necessary to reach the brink 
of the declivity. 

As the excited hag reached the aperture that 
served as the doorwoy of her den, a hideous, 
blear-eyed owl, who like an evil spirit kept watch 
and ward at the witch's castle, gave forth a 
ghostly "Hoot! Hoot!" of welcome to his mis- 
tress. At the unexpected sound the mulatto's 
quivering knees collapsed and he sank down, 
nearly rolling over the edge of the precipice. 

Sybella seemed not to feel the weight of the 
prostrate man whom she still clutched and hauled 
into the dark interior of her lair. 

Dropping the almost senseless man, she threw 
some resinous dry brush upon a fire that was 
smouldering in the center of the hut. As the 
flame shot up Manuel opened his eyes. With a 



shriek be sprang to his feet, terror shaking his 
every lim'b as he stared about him. 

Two giant rats were tugging at some bone, 
most human in shape ; each trying to tear it from 
the teeth of the other, as squealing they circled 
around the fire. In corners toads blinked their 
bead-like eyes, while darting lizards flashed 
across the floor. Slowly crawling along becween 
the unplastered logs of the walls snakes of many 
colors moved about or coiled in the thatch of the 
roof hung head downward and hissed as they 
waved their heads from side to side. 

Along the wall a bark shelf stood. On it were 
two small skulls with handles made of cane. 
These ghastly vessels were filled with milk. 
Conch shells and utensil's made of dried gourds 
were scattered on the shelf, among which a huge 
and ugly buzzard stalked about. 

An immense red drum hung from a pole fixed 
in a crevice of the rock and by its side dangled 
a long and shining knife. A curtain of woven 
grass hanging at the rear of the hovel seemed 
to conceal the entrance to some cavern within 
the hill's rock-ribbed breast. 



When the 'blaze of the burning fagots cast a 
glow over the grewsome interior of this temple 
of Voo Doo, Sybella, the High Priestess, turned 
upon t'he cowering man, upon whose asfiy-hued 
face stood great drops of ice-cold sweat, tearing 
from her head the scarlet turban that had hidden 
'her bare, deathly skull, and 'beckoning him with 
'her skeleton hand to approach, in guttural, hiss- 
ing voice commanded: 

"Say over what you told me on the hill ! Say, 
if you dare, you dog, here in my lair where Tu 
Konk dwells, that my daughter's grandson, the 
last of my blood, has mated with a white cow." 

Benumbed by the dazzling light that poured 
fiom the black pits in her naked, fleshless skull, 
the mulatto could not walk, but falling on his 
•hands and knees he moved toward her ; prostrate 
at her feet, overcome by fear, he whined faintly : 

"Burton, Walter Burton, married a white 
woman in Boston the twentieth of last month." 

The hag grasping his ears drew his head up 
toward her face, and thrusting her terrible head 
forward she plunged her gaze like sword points 
down into the man's very soul. 



With a cry like that of a wounded wild-cat, 
she jumped back and throwing her skinny arms 
up in the air began waving them above her head, 
screaming : 

"He does not lie ! It is true ! It is true !" 

In impotent rage she dug the sharp nails of her 
fingers into the skin of her bald head and tore 
long ridges across its smooth bare surface. 

Suddenly she seized the mulatto, now half- 
dead from terror, crying: 

"Come! Goat without horns, let us tell Tu 

Manuel, limp, scarcely -breathing, staggered to 
his feet. The 'hag held him 'by the bleeding ears 
that she had half torn from 1 his head. Pushing 
him before her they passed behind the curtain 
suspended against the rock wall at the rear of the 

The cave they entered was of small dimen- 
sions. It was illuminated by four large candles, 
which stood at each of the four corners of a 
baby's cradle. This misplaced article occupied 
the center of the space walled in by the rocky 
sides of the apartment. The place otherwise was 

8 4 


Sybella as soon as the curtain fell be'hind her 
6egan a monotonous chant. Moving slowly with 
shuffling side-long steps around the cradle, sang : 

"Awake, my Tu Konk, awake and listen; 

Hear my story; 

My blood long gone to white dogs; 

Daughter, granddaughter, all gone to White 
dogs ; 

One drop left to me now gone to white cow ; 

Tu Konk, Tu Konk, awake and avenge me." 

Manuel saw something move beneath the cov- 
ering in the cradle. 

"Awake, Oh! my Tu Konk; 

Awake and avenge me!" 

Manuel saw a black head thrust itself from 
'below the cover, and rest upon the dainty pillow 
in the cradle! The head was covered by an in- 
fant's lacy cap. 

Sybella saw the head appear. Dashing under 
the curtain and seizing one of the skull-cups she 
returned and filled a nursing bottle that lay in 
the cradle. 

The head covered with its cap of lace rose 
from the pillow. Sybella, on her knees, with 



bowed head and adoring gestures, crept to the 
side of the cradle and extended the bottle. King 
of terrors ! By all that is Horrible ! 

The nipple disappeared in the scarlet flaming 
mouth of an immense, fiery eyed, hissing black- 
snake. It was Tu Konk!" 

"Drink, my Tu Konk." 

"Bring back my black blood." 

"Leave me not childless." 

"Curse then the white cow." 

"Send 'her the black goat." 

"Give her black kids." 

"Black kids and white teats." 

"Serve thus the white cow." 

Chanting these words, the Voo Doo priestess 
struck her head repeatedly upon the hard surface 
of the floor of the cave. Blood ran down her 
face to mingle with the froth that dropped from 
her shriveled and distorted lips. 

The mulatto with bursting, straining eye-balls 
and chattering teeth gasped for breath. The 
hideous grotesqueness of the scene had frozen the 
very life-blood in his veins. The vestments of 
an angel adorning a fiend! Paralyzed by fear, 



with bulging eyes nearly popping from their 
sockets, the man stared at the horrible head sur- 
rounded by those trappings most closely associ- 
ated with innocence. 

Human nature could stand no more! With 
one frenzied shriek Manuel broke the spell that 
•held him helpless. Tearing aside the curtain he 
leaped out of this Temple of Terrors; heedless 
of tfhe danger of plunging over the precipice he 
raced along the treacherous path nor paused for 
breath until miles intervened between Tu Konk, 
Sybella and himself. 



NO SOCIAL event of the season equalled 
the Burton-Dunlap wedding. For 
weeks prior to the date of the ceremony 
it bad been the one all-engrossing theme of con- 
versation with everybody ; that is, everybody who 
was anybody, in the metropolis of the Old Bay 

The immense settlement, the magnificent gifts, 
the exquisite trousseau from Paris, the surpass- 
ing beauty of the bride, the culture and accom- 
plishments of the handsome groom, the exalted 
position of the Dunlap family, these formed tlhe 
almost exclusive topics of Boston's most exclu- 
sive set for many weeks before the wedding. 

What a grand church wedding it was! The 
church was a perfect mass of flowers and plants 
of the rarest and most expensive kind. The 
music grandissimo beyond expression. A bishop 
assisted by two clergymen performed the oere- 



many. The bride, a dream of loveliness in lace, 
satin and orange blossoms; the groom a model 
of grace and chivalry ; the tiny maids, earth-born 
angels ; the ushers Boston's bluest blooded scions 
of the Pilgrim Fathers, and finally everybody 
who was anybody was there. 

And the reception ! The Dunlap mansion and 
grounds were resplendent in a blaze of light ; the 
beauty, talent, wealth and great names of New 
England were gathered there to congratulate the 
happy bride, Dunlap's heiress, and the fortunate 

"A most appropriate match! How fortunate 
for all concerned ! How delightful for the two 
old gentlemen!" declared everybody who was 

Four special policemen guarded the glittering 
array of almost priceless wedding presents; in 
the siplendid refreshment room;, brilliant in glit- 
tering glass and silver, Boston's best and gentlest 
pledged the happy bride and groom in many a 
glass of rarest wine and wished long life and 
{happiness to that aharming, well-mated pair. 

The bride, radiant in her glorious beauty, re- 

8 9 


jecting as adornment for this occasion, diamond 
necklace and tiara, gifts of the groom, selected 
a simple coil of snowy pearls. 

"The gift of my Cousin Jack," she proudly 
said. "My earliest lover and most steadfast 

The savings of years of sailor life had been 
expended ungrudingly to lay this tribute of love 
on that fair bosom. 

How well assured was the future of this for- 
tunate couple! The prospect stretched before 
tJhem like one long, joyous journey of uninter- 
rupted bliss. ■ Life's pathway all lined with thorn- 
less roses beneath summer's smiling sky. 

Naught seemed lacking to make assurance of 
the future doubly sure. Youth, health, wealth, 
social position, culture, refinement, intelligence, 

Soft strains of music floated on the perfumed 
air, bright eyes "spake love to eyes that spake 
again," midst palms and in flower-garlanded re- 
cesses gentle voices wihispered words of love to 
willing ears ; in the center of this unalloyed bliss- 
fulness were Burton and his bride. 



"Old bachelors are as excitable concerning 
marriage as old spinsters can possibly be. See 
Mr. John Dunlap, how flushed and nervous he 
seems ! He hovers about the bride like an anx- 
ious mother !" So said two elderly grand-dames 
behind their fans while watching the group about 
Burton's fair young wife. 

Among that gay and gallant company moved 
one restless figure and peering face. David 
Chapman, leaving his sister, Miss Arabella, 
under the protecting care of Mrs. Church, lest 
during the confusion of so large a gathering, 
some daring cavalier, enamored of her maiden- 
charms, should elope with the guileless creature, 
mingled with the throng of guests, unobtrusive, 
but ever vigilant and watchful. 

Chapman's countenance bore an odd expres- 
sion, a mixture of satisfied curiosity, vindictive- 
ness and regret. 

That very day a superannuated sailor who for 
years had served the house of Dunlap, and now 
acted as ship-keeper for vessels in its employ, 
called to report to the superintendent some 
trifling loss. Before leaving 'be asked respect- 
fully, knuckling his forehead. 



"Is the manager goin' to marry ter'day?" 

"Yes; w ! hy?" said Chapman sharply. 

"Nothim' 'cept I've often seen his mother and 
took notice of him 'here," replied the man. 

"Where did you see Mr. Burton's mother? 
Who was she?" Chapman asked eagerly in his 
keen way. 

"In Port au Prince, mor'n twenty-five year 
er'go. She was Ducros', the sugar planter's 
darter, and the puttiest quadroon I ever seen. 
Yea, the puttiest woman of any kind I ever seen," 
answered the old ship-keeper in a reminiscent 

Chapman's 'eyes fairly sparkled with pleasure 
as he thus secured a clew for future investiga- 
tion, but without asking other questions he dis- 
missed the retired seaman. It was this infor- 
mation that gave to his face that singular expres- 
sion during the reception. 

A private palace car stood on the track in the 
station waiting for the coming of the bridal 
party. Naught less than a special train could 
be considered when it was decided that Florida 
should be the favored spot where the wealthy 



Haitien and his bride, the Dunlap heiress, would 
spend their honeymoon. 

Soft and balmy are the breezes, that pouring 
through the open windows of the ear, flood the 
interior with odors of pine cones and orange 
blooms, as Burton's special train speeds through 
the Flower State of the Union. 

The car is decked with the fresh and gorgeous 
blossoms of this snowless land ; yet of all the fair- 
est is that sweet bud that rests on Burton's 

"Walter, how sweet is life When one loves and 
is beloved," said Burton's young wife dreamily, 
raising 'her head from his "breast and gazing 
fondly into her husband's eyes, 

"Yes, love, life then is heaven on earth, sweet 
wife," whispered the husband clasping closely 
the yielding figure in his arms. 

"I am so happy, dearest Walter, I love you so 
•dearly," murmured Lucy clinging still closer to 
her lover. 

"You will always love me thus, I hope, my 
'darling," said Walter, as he kissed the white 
forehead of his bride. 



"Of course I shall, my own dear husband," 
answered unhesitatingly the happy, trusting 

"Could nothing, no matter what, however un- 
expected and unforeseen, shake your faith in me, 
or take from me that love I hold so sacred and 
so dear?" asked Burton earnestly, pressing his 
wife to his heart. 

"Nothing could alter my love for you, my hus- 
band," answered Lucy quickly, as she raised her 
'head and kissed him. 

The special train slows up at a small station. 
Put on breaks ! The whistle calls, and the train 
stops until the dispatcher can get a "clear track" 
message from the next station. 

The crowd of negroes, male and female, large 
and small, stare with wondering admiration at 
the beautiful being who appears on the rear plat- 
form of the car accompanied by such a perfect 
Adonis of a man. 

Lucy Burton was an object not likely to escape 
attention. Her full round form, slender, yet 
molded into most delicious curves, was shown to 
perfection by the tight-fitting traveling gown of 



some kind of soft stuff that she wore ; her happy, 
beautiful face, bright with the love-light in her 
hazel eyes, presented a picture calculated to cause 
even the most fastidious to stare. To the ignor- 
ant black people she was a revelation of loveli- 

As the negroes, in opened-mouthed wonder, 
came closer and clustered about the steps of the 
car, their great eyes wide and white, Lucy drew 
back a little and somewhat timidly slipped her 
hand into her husband's, whispering: 

"I am afraid of them, they are so black and 
shocking with their rolling eyes and thick lips." 

"Nonsense! sweetheart," said Walter with a 
laugh not all together spontaneous. 

"They are a merry, gentle folk, gay and good- 
natured; the Southern people would have no 
other nurses for their babies. I thought Xew 
England people had long since ceased to notice 
the color of mankind's skin. 

"But, Walter, how horrid they are! We see 
so few of them in New England that they don't 
seem like these. How dreadfully black and bru- 
tal they are. Let us go inside, I really am 



afraid I" cried Lucy in a low voice and started 
to retreat. 

At that moment a tall and very black woman 
who held a "baby at her breast, negro-like, car- 
ried away by thoughtless good nature and ad- 
miration for the lovely stranger, raised her ink- 
colored picaninny, and in motherly pride thrust 
it forward until its little wooly black head almost 
touched Lucy's bosom. 

With one glance of loathing, terror and un- 
concealed horror at the object resting nearly on 
her breast, Lucy gave a scream of fear and fled. 
Throwing herself on one of the settees in the car 
she buried her face among the cushions and wept 
solely from fright and nervousness. 

"Why! sweetheart, what is the matter? There 
is nothing to fear. Those poor people were only 
admiring you, my darling," cried Burton hurry- 
ing to his young wife's side and seeking to quiet 
her fears. 

"I can't help it, Walter, all those black faces 
crowded together near to me was awful, and that 
dreadful little black thing almost touched me,'' 
sobbed Lucy nervously. 



"Darling, the dreadful little black thing was 
only a harmless baby," replied the husband sooth- 

"Baby!" cried the astonished young woman, 
lifting her head from the cushions and regard- 
ing her companion through her undried tears 
with doubt, as if suspecting him of joking, 
"I thought it was an ape or some hideous little 
imp ! Baby !" and seeing that there was no joke 
about what her husband said, she added: 

"I didn't know negroes looked like that when 
babies. I would not touch that loathsome, hor- 
rid thing for worlds. It made my flesh fairly 
quiver to see it even near me." 

Walter Burton succeeded in allaying the alarm 
of his wife only after the train had resumed its 
rapid journey southward. When Lucy, lulled to 
sleep by the low music of the guitar which he 
played to distract her attention from the unpleas- 
ant recollection, no longer demanded his presence, 
Burton sought the smoking-room of the car and 
passed an hour in solemn, profound meditation, 
as he puffed continuously fragrant Havanas. 

"I was wrong ! She did not know. Now she 



never shall if I can prevent it." Such were the 
words of Lucy's husband when throwing away 
his cigar he arose to rejoin his young wife. 
***** * * 

Many hundred miles from flowery Florida 
across a watery way, a ship was wildly tossing 
upon an angry, sullen sea. For three days and 
nights with ceaseless toil, in constant danger, the 
weary crew had battled with howling winds and 
tempestuous waves. 

A storm of awe-inspiring fury had burst upon 
the- good ship "Adams," of Boston, bound for 
Melbourne, on the night of December the nine- 
teenth in that good year of our Lord. 

The superb seamanship of the skipper, com- 
bined with the prompt alacrity of the willing 
crew, alone saved the ship from adding her 
broken frame to that countless multitude which 
rest beneath the waves. 

The wind was still blowing a gale, but there 
was perceptibly less force in it, as shrieking it 
tore through the rigging and against the almost 
bare masts, than there had been in three days. 

Two men stood in the cabin, enveloped in oil- 

9 8 


skins, with rubber boots reaching above their 
knees. Their eyes were red from wind 
and watching, while they answered the 
'heave of the ^hip wearily as if worn out with the 
excessive labor of the last seventy-two hours. 
The men were the two mates of the "Adams. " 
The captain had sent them below for a glass of 
grog and a biscuit. There had been no fire in 
the galley for the three days that the storm had 
beaten upon the ship. 

"The skipper must be made of iron," said the 
shorter man, Morgan, the second officer. 

"He has hardly left the deck a minute since the 
squall strudk us, and he is as quick and strong 
as a shark," he continued, munching on the bis- 
cuit and balancing himself carefully as he raised 
his glass of grog. 

"Every inch a sailor is the skipper," growled 
the larger man hoarsely. 

"Sailed with Captain Dunlap in the 'Lucy/ 
and no better master ever trod a quarter-deck," 
added Mr. Brioe, the first officer of the "Adams." 

"He surely knows his business and handles the 
ship with the ease a Chinaman does his chop- 



sticks, but he's the surliest, most silent skipper 
I ever sailed with. You told us, Mr. Brice, when 
you came aboard that he was the jolliest; was 
he like this when you were with him on the 
'Lucy'?" said the second mate inquiringly. 

"No, he wasn't!" mum'bled old Brice in an- 

"Somethin' went wrong with him ashore," add- 
ing angrily as he turned and glared at his young 
companion : 

"But 'tis none of your blamed business or mine 
neither what's up with the skipper; you didn't 
ship for society, did you?" 

"That's right enough, Mr. Brice, but I 'cell you 
What 'tis, the men think the captain a little out 
of trim in the sky-sail. They say he walks about 
ship at night like a ghost and does queer things. 
Second day of the storm, the twentieth, in the 
evening, while it was blowing great guns and 
ship pitching like she'd stick her nose under for- 
ever, I was standin' by to help Collins at the 
wheel ; we see the skipper come staggering along 
aft balancing himself careful as a rope walker 
an a holdin' a glass of wine in his hand. When 



he gets to the rail at the stern he holds up high 
the glass and talks to wind, Davy Jones or some- 
thin', drinks the wine and hurls the glass to hell 
and gone into the sea. How's that, mate? Col- 
lins looks at me and shakes his head, and I feels 
creepy myself." 

For a minute Brice, with red and angry eyes, 
stared at the second mate, then he burst out in a 

"I'll knock the head off 'er Collins, and marlin 
spike the rest 'er the bloomin' sea lawyers in the 
for'castle if I catch them talkin' erbout the skip- 
per, and I tell you, Mr. Second Mate, you keep 
your mouth well shut or you'll get such 'er keel 
•haulin' you won't fergit. Captain Dunlap is no 
man to projec'k with and he's mighty rough in 
er shindy." 

With that closing admonition the first officer 
turned and climbed the reeling stairs that led to 
the dedk. As he emerged from the companion- 
way a great wave struck the side of ship heeling 
her over and hurling the mate against the man 
who had formed the topic of discussion in the 
cabin below. 



The skipper was wet to the skin; he had 
thrown aside his oil-skins to enable him to move 
more nimbly, his face was worn, drawn and al- 
most of leaden hue. Deep lines and the dark 
circles around his eyes told a story of loss of 
sleep, fatigue and anxiety. How much of this 
was due to an aching pain in the heart only Him 
to whom all things are revealed could know. 

Morgan's story was true. He had described 
when, how and under what conditions Jack had 
pledged Lucy in a glass of wine on her wedding 
day, praying God to send blessings and happiness 
to his lost love. 

Sing sweet mocking birds ! Shine genial sun ! 
Bloom fairest flowers of Sunny Florida! Bliss 
be thine, loved Lucy ! Dream not of the ocean's 
angry roar! The tempest's cruel blast! 



I REALLY can hardly realize, grand- 
father, that I have been married one 
year and that today is che anniversary 
of my wedding," exclaimed Mrs. Walter Burton 
to 'her grandfather, as lingering over a late break- 
fast, they chatted in a desultory manner on many 

The breakfast-room of the Dunlap mansion 
was one of the prettiest apartments in the house ; 
bright and airy, with great windows reaching 
from ceiling to floor, which flooded the place with 
sunshine and cheerfulness this brilliant snowy 
New England morning. 

Surely it had been difficult to find anything 
prettier than the young matron who presided 
over the sparkling service with the grace of the 
school-girl still visible notwithstanding the re- 
cently assumed dignity of wife. 

Lucy Burton's face and form possessed that 



rare quality of seeming always displayed' to best 
advantage in the last costume she wore. Nothing 
could be more becoming than the lace-trimmed 
breakfast gown of a clinging silky, pink fabric 
worn by her this morning. 

The tete-a-tete between grandfather and 
granddaughter each morning over the breakfast- 
table was an established and, to both, a cherished 
custom that had grown up since Lucy's mar- 

Mr. James Dunlap carried his seventy-three 
years as lightly as many men of less rugged con^ 
stitutions carry fifty. His was a fresh, healthy, 
'kindly old face, the white hair resting like the 
snow on some Alpine peak served but to heighten 
the charm of those goodly features below. 

"A year to young people means very little, I 
judge, daughter, but we old folk regard it differ- 
ently. You have been away from me during the 
last year so much that old man as I am, the time 
has dragged," the grandfather replied laying 
aside his morning paper and adjusting his glasses 
that he might see better the pretty face across 
the table. 

104 ' 


"Now, that I look at you, my dear, apparently 
you have not aged to any alarming extent since 
you have become a matron," jocosely added the 
old gentleman, his eyes beaming lovingly on his 

"I may not show it, still I have my troubles." 
Lucy's attempt to wrinkle her smooth brow and 
draw down the corners of her sweet mouth while 
she tried to muster up a sigh was so ridiculous 
that her companion began to laugh. 

"Don't laugh at me, grandfather ; it's unkind," 
cried Lucy, with the childish manner that still 
crept out when alone with him who had been both 
father and mother to her. 

"Very well, deary, I shall not laugh. Tell me 
of those dire troubles that afflict you," rejoined 
her still smiling grandfather. 

"Well! now there is Walter, obliged to run 
away so early to that horrid old office that I never 
see him at the breakfast-table," began the young 
creature with pretty pettishness. 

"Sad! indeed sad!" said Mr. Dunlap in af- 
fected sorrow. "A gay young couple attend 
some social function or the theatre nigMy and 


maMOM n— i 


are up late ; the unfortunate young husband is 
obliged to be at his office at ten o'clock in the 
morning to save an old man of seventy odd from 
routine labor; the young wife who is fond of a 
morning nap must breakfast alone, save the com- 
panionship of an o'ld fogy of a grandfather ; 'tis 
the saddest situation I ever heard of." 

The laughter in the old gentleman's throat 
gurgled like good wine poured for welcome guest 
as Lucy puckered up her lips at him. 

"Then that hateful old 'Eyrie.' When we were 
married and y'oU insisted that we should live here 
with you, which, of course, I expected to do, I 
thought Walter would sell or lease that lonely 
bachelor den of his, but he has done no such 
thing ; says he keeps up the establishment for the 
sake of the conservatory, which is the finest in 
the State," proceeded the wife ruefully recount- 
ing her alleged woes. 

"Walter speaks truly concerning the conserva- 
tory at the 'Eyrie.' Mr. Foster Agnew, who is 
authority on the subject, says that he has never 
seen a finer collection of rare and beautiful plants 
and flowers in any private conservatory in this 

1 06 


counry," replied Mr. Dunlap in defense of Bur- 
ton's action in maintaining his former home. 

"Yes, but there is no reason for Walter's run- 
ning up there at all hours of the night, and some- 
times even staying there all night, telling me that 
he is anxious about the temperature; that Leo- 
pold may fall asleep or neglect something. I 
hate that miserable conservatory," rejoined Lucy 
with flushed face and flashing eyes. 

"Ob! Pshaw! you exacting little witch! You 
are fearfully neglected by reason of the 'Eyrie's' 
conservatory, are you? Now, let me see. You 
were in Florida and California two months of 
the last year, and in Europe four more, leaving 
just six months that you have spent in Boston 
.since your marriage. I suppose Walter has spent 
a half dozen nights at the 'Eyrie.' Great tribula- 
tion and trial," rejoined the amused grandfather. 

"Well, but Walter knows I don't like his going 
there at night. Something might happen to 
him," persisted Lucy, woman-like seizing any 
argument to gain her point. 

"As Princess Lucy does not like it, s'he thinks 
that should be a sufficient reason for the visits 



to the 'Eyrie' at night 4o cease. Being accus- 
tomed to that humble and abject obedience ren- 
dered to her slightest wish by the old slaves John 
and James, and the young slave, Jack Dunlap. 
Is that it, Princess?" said the old gentleman mak- 
ing a mocking salaam to 'Her Highness' as he 
sometimes called his pretty vis-a-vis. 

"Stop making fun of me, grandfather; I think 
you are really unkind. I never made slaves of 
you and Uncle John and good old Jack. Did I 
now ?" 

Lucy Burton surely was a beauty. Small won- 
der that the Dunlap men, old and young, loved 
her long before Walter Burton came to win her. 
She looked so pretty as she asked the last ques- 
tion that her grandfather held 'out his hands and 
said : 

"Come here, my dear, and kiss me. I forgive 
you if you 'have been an exacting ruler." When 
Lucy settled herself on the arm of his chair as 
some graceful bird of gay plumage perches itself 
on a twig, the fine old face was filled with ten- 
derness and love as he kissed her. 

Lucy pa'ssed her soft white arm around her 

1 08 


grandfather's neck, and resting her dimpled 
cheek on his snowy head, she said seriously: 

"That is not all of my reason for disliking the 
'Eyrie.' You 'know, grandfather, I should not 
discuss my husband with any one other than 
yourself, so this is a secret; I have noticed that 
whenever Walter makes an all-night visit to the 
'Eyrie' that the trip is preceded by an outburst 
of unusual hilarity on his part ; in fact, on such 
occasions I am almost annoyed by something 
nearly undignified in Walter's demeanor; he 
seemis as thoughtless as a child, says and does 
things that are ridiculous and silly." 

"Tut, tut, child, you have a very vivid imagi- 
nation, and are so anxious for everyone to regard 
your husband with the exaggerated admiration 
that you have for him, that you are allowing 
yourself to become hyperergic, my pet," re- 
joined Mr. Dunlap reassuringly. 

"No, grandfather, you are mistaken. I not 
alone notice something peculiar about Walter's 
periodical outbursts of unseemly mirth; I see 
others regard with surprise this departure from 
his customary reposeful dignity," insisted the 



young wife earnestly with a note of indignation 
in her voice when speaking of others observing 
any thing strange in the conduct of her husband. 

"Oh ! nonsense, Lucy, all young men occasion- 
ally cast aside dignity. In the fullness of youth 
and vigor they become now and again fairly exu- 
berant with happiness and forget all about the 
conventionalities of society. I have seen nothing 
about Walter in that particular different from 
other young men. Don't make yourself wretched 
over nothing, little girl." 

"Possibly I observe my husband with more 
attention than anyone else, even than you, grand- 
father, for I certainly perceive a great differenti- 
ation between Walter's spasmodic mirth and sim- 
ilar exhibitions by other men. Walter seems 
different in many ways that mystify me. On 
every occasion that he remains all night at the 
'Eyrie/ after a display of this extraordinary and 
boyish merriment, he returns home the next day 
with broad dark circles around his eyes, and is 

in a most depressed state of spirits," said the 
young wife, with real anxiety revealed in the 
tone of her voice. 


"Well, really, daughter, if you are anxious 
concerning what you say, I shall observe Walter 
■more closely. He may be over exerting himself 
by the late hours that he keeps in your company, 
and the detail work that he has taken off my 
hands. However, just as a venture, I will wager 
a box of gloves against a kiss, deary, that Walter 
does not appear in the condition you have de- 
scribed this evening, notwithstanding that he 
passed last night at the 'Eyrie' and was markedly 
mirthful during last evening," said Lucy's grand- 
father, passing his arm around her slim waist and 
drawing his anxious girl to his heart. 

"I am glad you mentioned last evening, for I 
wish to speak of something I noticed during the 
serving of dinner and afterward. Who was that 
old gentleman whom you introduced as Pro- 
fessor Charlton?" said the young woman inter- 

"Oh, that is my old friend and fellow classmate 
when we were at Harvard. He is a Georgian 
and is Dean of the Georgia University and one 
of the most learned ethnologists in the world. He 
is here to consult with Professor Wright of Har- 



vard concerning a forthcoming book on which 
Charlton has been engaged for years. Now, that 
I have answered fully, why were you curious 
about that old book- worm and chum of mine, my 
pretty inquisitor?" 

"Simply because he seemed perfectly fasci- 
nated by my husband. He appeared unable to 
remove his gaze from him even when addressed 
by you or any one else. He would peer at him 
over his glasses, then raise his head and inspect 
Walter through them just as botanists do when 
they come upon some rare plant." 

"By Jove! What next will that brown head 
of your's conjure up to worry over? Are you 
jealous of old Charlton's admiring glances? If 
he were a pretty woman I might understand, but 
old Cobb Charlton. We'll! I am prepared for 
anything, my pet, so go ahead. What about 
those glances seen by your watchful eyes?" said 
her grandfather, chuckling over some farcical 
suggestion in connection with old Professor 
Thos. Cobb Charlton. 

"Yes, but they were not admiring glances, and 
I didn't say so. They were studious, scrutiniz- 



ing, investigating, and I thought, insulting," in- 
dignantly replied Lucy. 

"Ah ! Now we are called upon to criticise the 
quality and kind of glance with which an old 
student may regard a gay young fellow who is 
rattling gleefully through a somewhat tedious 
dinner," said Mr. Dunlap in an amused manner. 

"You may laugh at me, grandfather, as much 
as you please, but Walter was made so nervous 
and uncomfortable by that old fellow's discon- 
certing scrutiny that he acted almost silly. I 
have never seen him quite so ridiculously merry. 
That old Professor squinted even at Walter's 
hands, as if he wished for a microscope to exam- 
ine themi, and after dinner while Walter was 
singing he edged up near the piano and peered 
down Walter's throat, listening intently as if to 
catch some peculiar note for which he was wait- 
ing, all the time with his old head on one side 
like an* ugly owl," said the exasperated young 

'Lucy's description of his old college friend 
and her manner of setting forth his idiosyncra- 
cies was too much for James Dnnlap's risibility. 


■■■m iwi mi miii 111 iii ii ii mi iiiiiihiiiii»hmhihi«mibm 


He threw back his head and incontinently 
laughed in his granddaughter's pretty flushed 

"Oh ! my, Oh ! my ! How old Cobb would en- 
joy this! My dearest, old Cobb Charlton is the 
jolliest, most amiable fellow on earth. He would 
not wound the sensibilities of a street-dog, and 
is one of the best bred gentlemen alive. Oh ! my, 
Lucy! You'll be the death of me yet with your 
whimsical notions," cried the fine old fellow lean- 
ing back in his chair, shaking with laughter. 

"Well, I don't care; it is just as I said, for 
finally, he seemed to discover something about 
Walter for which he had been seeking. I saw a 
self-satisfied smile steal over his face as he 
nodded his bushy white head. Then he stared 
at you as if amazed, and then, if I be not blind 
and I don't think that I am, he had the imperti- 
nence to look at me with, actually, pity in his 
big, staring black eyes," retorted Lucy angrily 
as she recalled the events of the previous even- 

"Imagination, pure and simple !" exclaimed 
Mr. Dunlap, continuing to laugh, enjoying huge- 
ly Lucy's anger. 



'''Charlton was possibly thinking about some- 
thing connected with his favorite science and 
probably did not even see us while apparently 
he was casting about those peculiar glances that 
you depict so vividly.'' 

"Even so, I think it ill-bred and unkind in him 
to make my husband the subject of a study in 

"Ah !" gasped her grandfather, as though a 
sudden pain had struck his heart. Some new 
idea had flashed upon his brain, the laughter van- 
ished from lips and the color from his face. He 
straightened up in his chair while a look of anx- 
iety replaced the merriment that had sparkled in 
his eyes. 

"Why, what is the matter, grandfather ?" cried 
Lucy in undisguised alarm at the change in his 

"Nothing, my darling, it will pass away. 
Please hand me a glass of water," the old man 

Lucy hastened to fill a glass with water and 
while she was so engaged Mr. Dunlap struggled 
to master some emotion that had caused the sud- 



den departure of all his jocoseness of the moment 
before she said that 'her husband had been made 
a subject of a study in ethnology. 

"I am better now, thank you, dear ; it was just 
a little twinge of pain that caught me unaware of 
its approach," said the old gentleman forcing a 
smile to 'his pale lips. 

"And ndw let us talk about your Cousin Jack, 
and leave alone the vagaries of a moth-eaten old 
scholar w l hom you will probably never see again," 
he continued,- as if eager to banish some disa- 
greeable thought from his mind. 

"Oh, yes ! Do tell me some news of dear old 
Jack. His very name seems to 'bring the purity, 
freshness and freedom of the sea into this 'hot- 
house life one leads in society. Where is he and 
how is he?" cried Lucy enthusiastically at men- 
tion of the name of her sailor cousin. 

"You recall, do you not, the brief mention that 
'he made in the first letter that we received after 
he sailed of a fearful storm encountered by his 
ship when not less than a month out from Bos- 
ton, and that his ship (so he wrote) had been 
fortunate enough to rescue some people from a 



foundered and sinking vessel during the gale?" 
asked Mr. Dunlap regaining gradually his com- 
posure as his mind dwelt upon a subject pleasant 
to contemplate. 

"Yes, surely, I remember, grandfather, because 
the storm', I recall, was at its height on my wed- 
ding day and I wondered at the time if in all that 
fearful danger Jack even thought of me." 

"Well, then ! to begin with I must let you into 
a state secret. Your good! Uncle John the day 
before Jack sailed insisted that he should carry 
old Brice, who had been long in our service, as 
one of his mates. John's object was this: know- 
ing Jack's pride and obstinacy, he feared that he 
might need 'help and not apply to us* for it, so he 
sent for Brice and bribed him to stick by our 
young kinsman and 'keep us informed concerning 
his welfare. We have had only glowing accounts 
of Jack's success as a ship-owner from Brice. 
Yesterday there came a letter and a copy of a 
London paper from him that filled my heart with 
pride and pleasure, and I know will overjoy your 

"Do hurry, grandfather. I can't wait long to 



rnii'./jwj .tAimmm MWMHramjLmm 

hear fine things about my good, faithful old 
Jack," exclaimed Lucy impatiently, as she re- 
sumed her place on the arm of the old man's 

"This is what the report in the London news- 
paper states, and is what neither Jack nor Brice 
wrote home. The s'hip that foundered was filled 
with emigrants from Ireland bound for Aus- 
tralia. The fourth day of the storm she was 
sighted by the 'Adams/ While the wind had 
subsided somewhat the waves were still rolling 
mountain high. When Jack called for volun- 
teers to man the boats the crew hung in the wind, 
until Jack, noticing the women and children on 
the deck of the sinking s'hip, called to Brice to 
come with him., and pushing aside the reluctant 
crew made ready to spring into a boat which had 
been lowered. Then the shamed crew rushed 
over the side and insisted that the captain allow 
•them to make the attempt to rescue the people 
from the wrecked vessel. With the last boat- 
load of the emigrants that came safely on board 
of the 'Adams' was a little girl who, weeping 
bitterly, cried that her sick mother had been left 
behind. The sailors and Mr. Morgan, the sec- 




ond mate of the 'Adams/ said that the child's 
mother was nearly dead, lying in a hunk in the 
sick-hay, and that she had smallpox and no one 
dared lift and carry her to the boat." 

"What an awful position ! What did Jack 
say?" cried Lucy, breaking the thread of 'her 
grandfather's narrative. 

"Jack did not say much, but he did that that 
makes me proud to call him my kinsman, a Dun- 
lap and a Yankee sailor. He whispered to the 
ehild not to cry any more, that she should have 
her mother brought to her. Then he leaped into 
the boat and was shoving off to make the trip 
alone to the wreck when old Brice tumbled over 
the ship's side and took his place at an oar. Jack 
brought the woman in his arms from the sick- 
bay and laid her in the boat, regaining his own 
ship, he made the smallpox patient comfortable in 
his own cabin, nursed her himself and saved her 

life," said Mr. Dunlap exultantly, relating the 
report of the rescue as published in the English 

"Hurrah! for our noble Jack!" cried Lucy, 
springing up and waving about her head a nap- 
kin that lay upon the table. 



"But hear the end, daughter, in recognition of 
the humanity of the generous deed, the Royal 
Humane Society of England has presented both 
Jack and Brice with medals, and as an extraor- 
dinary mark of distinction, the King of England 
has, with his own hand, written a letter to our 
Jack, congratulating him upon the performance 
of a noble, unselfish and courageous act," added 
the grandfather. 

"Three times three ! for brave Jack Dunlap ! 
Hurrah, for the blood of a good old Yankee race 
that tells its story in noble deeds," and waving 
the improvised banner above her fair head she 
bent down and kissed the glowing cheek of the 
proud old man. 

"Run along now, d'ear, and dress. You may 
take me for a sleigh-ride behind your fast ponies 
before I go down to the office." 

As Lucy went upstairs, there came floating 
back to 'her grandfather's ears her fresh, musical 
voice singing: 

It's a Yankee ship, 
It's a Yankee crew, 
That's first on waters blue. 



ARLY in the miorning after Mr. Bun- 
lap's dinner-party in honor of Professor 
Charlton, when the newly risen sun had 
ma'de a dazzling field of glittering diamonds of 
the snow that lay white and spotless about the 
'Eyrie/ Walter Burton threw up the sash of one 
of the long, low windows in his sitting-room and 
stepped out on the balcony. 

With a sigh of relief he drank in deep draughts 
of the fresh, crisp air, and exclaimed as he. 
shaded his eyes : 

"What a blessing is fresh air and sunlight after 
the closeness of the house and gas-light." 

The man's face was 'haggard and drawn like 
one who 'has passed a night of vigil and suffer- 
ing. His eyes were surrounded by bands of 
black that gave to them a hollow appearance. 

"How utterly idiotic and inexplicable seems 

my mood and conduct of last night out here in 



the sunshine, now that I am my natural self once 

Burton walked down from the balcony on the 
crackling snow that lay dry and sparkling on the 
lawn in front of the house. After a few mo- 
ments spent in the exercise of pacing about and 
swinging his arms, he returned to his sitting- 
room refreshed and apparently restored to his 
usual condition of mind. 

All around the room that he entered were scat- 
tered promiscuously, musical instruments, books, 
cushions, flowers and fragments of a late supper, 
all in that confusion that could not fail to impress 
the beholder with the idea that the room had 
been recently the scene of reckless orgies. Pil- 
lows heaped upon a sofa still bore the imprint of 
some one's head, and was evidently the couch 
from which the young man had risen when he 
went forth into God's bright sunlight. 

With supreme disgust depicted on his aesthetic 
countenance, Walter Burton gazed at the evi- 
dence of his nocturnal revel while in that state 
of mind he had named idiotic. 

"These sporadic spells of silliness which come 



timumnjjLggniiiiTW>i;i *-«« f 'um 

over my spirit are as revolting to me, when re- 
lieved from their influences, as is incomprehensi- 
ble the cause of their coming," muttered Burton, 
kicking aside the various articles that littered the 

"What earthly reason could there be for the 
peculiar effect produced upon me by the scrutiny 
of that old professor from the South? There ex- 
ists nothing natural to account for the strange 
sensation caused by the penetrating gaze of that 
old Southerner. 

"The cause must be sought in the sphere of the 
supernatural, a province wherein reason, educa- 
tion and culture protest against my wandering." 
Pausing the young man strove to recall the 
scenes and sensations of the previous night, but 
in vain. 

"It is useless for me to struggle to bring back 
the vanished state of feeling that possessed me 
last evening. It refuses to pass before the spec- 
trum of my mind. 

"It is ever thus while the normal condition of 
my mental faculties exists. I always fail to catch 
the fleeting shadow of that distorting spectre that 



haunts my spirit with its degrading, masterful 

"Could I but hold that sensation that steals 
upon me, while my mental powers are yet unim- 
paired by its presence, I might make a diagnosis 
of the disease, analyze the cause and produce the 
remedy, but my attempts are always futile. I 
fail to reproduce the feeling that was all-pervad- 
ing a few short hours before the current of my 
mind returned to its accustomed channel." 

The helplessness and baffled look upon the 
man's face as he ended this self-communion was 
piteous. Throwing himself into a chair and cov- 
ering his face with his hands, he cried almost 
with a moan : 

"To what depth of degradation, brutality and 
crime may I not be carried while actuated by a 
power foreign and antagonistic to all that Chris- 
tianity, morality and education have imparted to 

"My God! How I had hoped that time and 
marriage would cause a diminution in the power 
of these strange spells and the frequency of their 



visits, until, at last, I might be freed from a 
thralldom repugnant to all my better self." 

"Vain that hoped for release ! Rather do the 
mysterious visitations increase in frequency, and 
alas ! also in power." 

"Like insidious waves that sap and undermine 
the foundation of some massive granite cliff, the 
delusive tide recedes but to return, each succeed- 
ing visit adding to the inroad already ma'de. 
Though small may be the gain, they never once 
relax their firm grip upon the headway won be- 
fore, until the toppling mass comes crashing from 
its majestic height, vanquished by and victim of 
unremitting insidiousness." 

"So I find with each recurrence of the tide of 
the strange spell that submerges me. That 
granite clirT of Christianity whereon I builded 
my castle of morality, that bastion of education, 
those redoubts of refinement, culture, aesthetics, 
deemed by me as creating an impregnable for- 
tress wherein by the aid of civilization I should 
find secure shelter, are trembling and toppling, 
undermined by the waves of that inexplicable, 
relentless influence." 



''Each attack finds me weaker to resist, each 
advance carries me further from my fortress ; I 
feel my defense falling ; I am drawing nearer to 
the brink; shall I fall? Shall I go crashing 
-down, dragged from my high estate by some 
fiendish tendency as inexorable as it is degrad- 

"As yet I am enabled to resist beyond the 
point of insensate silliness and folly, but each 
returning shock is accompanied by ever stronger 
suggestion of immorality, brutality and crime. 
S'hall I be strong enough always to repulse this 
tireless current of assault? Shall I finally suc- 
cumb and fall to the level of the barbarian and 
the beast? Soul harrowing thought!" 

"The insane or drink frenzied man is uncon- 
scious of his acts, but such is not my miserable 
fate, while held in bondage by that unknown 
power I appreciate the absurdity of my every act. 
I still am I, but powerless to control myself; I 
catc'h the look of wonder that fills the eyes of 
others. I feel the shame, but am powerless to 
remove the cause." 

"And, oh! the horror of seeing and recogniz- 



ing a look of rebuke and repulsion in the eyes of 
those I love and those who love me. To see the 
smile of pride vanish and the blush of mortifica- 
tion succeed it on the face of that being of all the 
world to me the dearest and fairest." 

"Last night in my dear Lucy's eyes I read re- 
proof, rebuke, and on her cheeks I saw the red 
flag of shame. Cognizant of the cause, I, like a 
leaf upon the current of some mighty cataract, 
helpless, rushed along in humiliation and self- 
disgust. I beat against the stream with all my 
remaining strength of mind; I struggled to re- 
gain the shore of my accustomed dignity, but all 
in vain." 

"I was carried on and on, until plunging over 
the brink of the fall I struck the bottom where 
lie those self-respect destroying rocks of dis- 
grace. In ignominy I fled and sought refuge 
here ; ceasing my unavailing efforts to break the 
chain that held me I gave free rein to the influ- 
ences that governed my mood." 

"Wild and ribald songs burst from my lips, 
hilarious and lascivious music poured from the 
instruments that I touched, movements, rythmic 



but novel, fantastic, barbarous, jerked my limbs 
about in the measure of some isavage dance. I 
ate and drank more as an untutored tribesman of 
the jungle than a civilized citizen df our cultured 

"All unrestrained and unopposed that mystify- 
ing mood bore me on recklessly, abandoned, until 
it swept me to the very verge of wickedness and 
sin. On the extremist edge of that precipice, 
below w'hich lies the gulf of infamy, I found 
strength to grasp and hold the feeble tendrils of 
that higher estate that still clung around me ; in 
every fiber of my being there surged Satanic 
suggestions to relinquish my hold upon the frag- 
ile stay to which I desperately clung, and take the 
plunge into that dark gulf below." 

"Go where base associates await you ! Where 
lewdness, lasciviousness, brutality, beastliness 
and licensed libidinousness lead to savage satiety 
that ends in blood. These were the suggestive 
words whispered to me by that fiendish spirit 
of these strange 'spells. They vibrated through 
every nerve and vein of my racked and straining 



"Thank God! I still had power of soul suffi- 
cient to resist, but Lord! how long shall I be 
enabled to avert that which is seemingly my 

Burton arose and for several minutes walked 
a'bout the apartment with agitated, nervous tread. 
Passing before a long mirror that stood between 
the windows, he stopped suddenly before it, 
gazed intently at his image reflected there, and 
cried out: 

"The reflection there tells me that I appear to 
be as other men around me. In stature and 
'features I seem 1 not essentially at variance with 
the average man I meet, perhaps I am even more 
comely. What then is it that caused me to fall 
shamefaced, embarrassed and simpering like a 
silly 'school boy, before the scrutiny of that old 
scholar last night?" 

"I hold the Christian faith; I possess more 
than the ordinary degree of education common 
in this country; I have acquired proficiency in 
many accomplishments ; I bear the impress of the 
culture and refinement of this most enlightened 
century, and yet! and yet!" 



"The searching, piercing glance of that old' sci- 
entist seemed to penetrate some concealing veil 
and tearing it aside revealed me in my very 
nakedness; I seemed to stand forth an exposed 
impostor; I felt myself a self-confessed charlatan, 
caught in the very act of masquerading in the 
stolen trappings of my superiors; I became the 
buffoon in borrowed gown and cap of the philos- 
opher, an object of ridicule and wrath." 

"Before those deep seeing eyes I was no longer 
self-assured; convicted of mimicking manners 
foreign to myself, I seemed to cast aside the un- 
availing, purloined mask and mummery and thus 
reveal myself a fraud. Seeking safety from the 
scorn and just resentment of the defrauded I took 
refuge in pitiful imbecility and silliness." 

"Once before the same experience was mine. 
In Paris, at the American Ambassador's recep- 
tion I met the Liberian minister. As soon as the 
gigantic black man fastened his gaze upon me, I 
became disconcerted. When we clasped hands 
all the feeling of superiority that education gives 
departed from me, all the refined sentiments 
created by culture vanished, I could only simper 



and chuckle like a child over senseless jokes as 
did the negro giant beside me." 

"On that occasion, fearing to shock and disgust 
my bride, I stole like a thief from her side and 
feigning sudden illness begged a friend to take 
my place as escort of my wife, while as one bereft 
of reason I raced along the boulevards and buried 
myself beneath the dark shade of the trees in the 
Bois de Boulogne, where, capering and shouting 
madly I danced until, exhausted, I fell to the 

As Burton stood regarding his image reflected 
in the mirror, he became suddenly aware of how 
wan and worn was the face before him and turn- 
ing wearily away he exclaimed, 

"I must throw aside these wretched recollec- 
tions and forebodings. I look absolutely ill. I 
shall be in no condition to appear either at the 
office or at my home unless I succeed in obliter- 
ating some of the evidences of my suffering last 

When, by a mighty effort, he had acquired suf- 
ficient control of his nerves and voice as not to 
attract the attention of his valet, he rang the bell. 



"Viator, prepare my bath, lay out some linen 
and a proper suit of clothing. Order my break- 
fast served as soon as I ring, open the windows 
and let fresh air into the room when I leave it," 
said Burton to his attendant, when the valet ap- 
peared in answer to his master's summons. 

A refreshing bath, a liberal indulgence in 
strong, black coffee, assisted by the will power of 
the man enabled Burton to enter the office of "J. 
Dunlap" almost entirely restored to his custom- 
ary appearance. 

The Manager had just finished examining the 
reports submitted by the heads of the various de- 
partments of the great Shipping and Banking 
house when the door of his office opened and the 
Superintendent entered. 

David Chapman looked even more hawk-like, 
hungry and eager than when he had stood one 
year before in the same place. 

"Beg pardon, Mr. Burton, but I thought you 
might wish to be informed of the fact that under 
instructions from Mr. Dunlap, I am forwarding 
by the steamer that leaves today for Hong Kong, 
a package and some letters that Mr. Dunlap gave 


— fc— p— I— — — i ^— — ^— 1 — — — 


me to send to Captain Jack Dunlap. The pack- 
age contains, I believe, a testimonial of Mr. Dun- 
lap's admiration for the noble conduct of his kins- 
man in connection with the rescue from the wreck 
of that emigrant ship. As I am availing myself 
of the opportunity to communicate my own opin- 
ion concerning Captain Jack's action, I thought it 
not improbable that you would wish to send some 
message," said the Superintendent, peering 
stealthily at Burton as he spoke. 

"I thank you, Chapman, most heartily for let- 
ting me know this/' cried Burton warmly. 

"How much time may I have to prepare a let- 
ter and package to accompany yours and Mr. 

"Mr. Dunlap told me to hold the package until 
he arrived at the office as it was likely that his 
grandaughter would wish to place some commun- 
ication for her cousin with his." 

"And I am sure she will ! My wife's admira- 
tion for her cousin Jack is unbounded. I will 
hasten to prepare my contribution to the congrat- 
ulations sent to Captain Jack. He is a magnifi- 
cent man and I am proud to be connected in any- 
way with such a noble character." 


I mill llll ■ IMIII M 1 Ill l !■■ IIIIIIMIIIII Illllll ■ Willi HH II l—l I MM I WM I ll 


"You are right, sir. Jack Dunlap is a brave, 
true man and comes of a brave, true race. His 
actions prove that blood will tell," rejoined Chap- 
man with more enthusiasm than it seemed pos- 
sible for one of his disposition to exhibit. 

"Oh ! Pshaw ! Nonsense ! I give Jack 
greater credit for his courage and faithfulness 
than you do when you announce the absurd doc- 
trine that men inherit such qualities. I give him 
alone credit for what he is, not his race or blood. 
Blood may be well enough in hounds and horses, 
but education and culture make the man not the 
blood in his veins," exclaimed Burton impatiently. 

"The same reason that exists for the superior- 
ity of the well-bred horse or dog, causes the man 
of a good race to be the superior of the man of 
an inferior race," said Chapman meaningly, with 
an almost imperceptible sneer in the tone of his 

"That argument might hold good provided that 
men like horses carried jockeys to furnish the in- 
telligence or like hounds had huntsmen to guide 
them," replied the Manager with more heat than 
seemed justified. 



"Give a mule the most astute jockey on earth 
and he is no match for the thorough-bred horse. 
Give the mongrel cur the craftiest huntsman, he 
can neither find nor hold as the hound of pure 
blood. Give the man of inferior race every ad- 
vantage that education and culture can furnish, 
he still remains inferior to the man of the purer, 
better race and blood. The superiority of the lat- 
ter lies in the inherent qualities of his race," re- 
plied Chapman, while a sinister smile distorted 
his thin scarlet lips, and a baleful light flashed 
from his black eyes. For a moment he waited to 
see the effect of his last speech, then turned and 
glided from the Manager's office. 



ARABELLA CHAPMAN was the neat- 
est of housekeepers. The sitting room 
of the home of David Chapman was a 
pattern of tidiness and cleanliness, the furniture 
was rubbed and polished until it shone like glass, 
every picture, rug and curtain was as speckless as 
newly fallen snow. 

Miss Arabella seemed especially created to 
form the central figure of her surroundings, as 
seated on a low rocking chair, she plied a neat lit- 
tle needle on some nice little article of lace-work. 

No tiny, tidy wren was ever brighter and more 
chipper in its shining little brass cage than was 
Miss Arabella, as, bird-like, she peeped at her 
brother, when he drew the cover from the violon- 
cello which stood in one corner of the room. 

"I am glad to see that you intend passing the 
evening at home, David," piped up the ancient 



"It has really been so long since we had any 
music that I am delighted to see you uncover 
your violoncello," continued the twin sister of 
David Chapman. 

"Well, Arabella, the fact is that in my many 
excursions during the last year I have collected 
such a quantity of food for thought, that, like a 
well filled camel I feel it necessary to pause and 
chew the cud awhile," replied David arranging 
some sheets of music on a stand and passing his 
hand lovingly over the chords of the instrument 
that he held. 

"I must admit that I should prefer to remain 
hungry mentally forever if to procure food for 
thought it were necessary to don the apparel of a 
tramp, and prowl around at all hours of the night, 
seeking, doubtless, in the vilest dens, among the 
lowest vagabonds for mental sustenance," chirped 
Arabella sharply, prodding her needlework spite- 

"Perhaps, my good sister, you will never quite 
undertand that some men are born investigators. 
By nature they are led to investigate any phenom- 
enon that presents itself." 



"Then I insist that it is a most unfortunate 
thing for one so born," pecked Miss Arabella 
with the sharpness of a quarrelsome English 

"It causes one to make a Paul Pry of himself 
and wander about in a very questionable manner 
at unseemly hours, to the injury of both health 
and reputation. When one of your age, David, 
is so endowed by nature it is a positive misfor- 

Chapman appeared greatly amused by the irri- 
tated manner of his sister, for he smiled in that 
ghastly way of his as he leaned back in his chair, 
still with his violoncello resting between his legs, 
and said, 

"You see, Arabella, there may be a great dif- 
ference in the way we regard the affairs of life. 
Doubtless scientific researches may not afford 
much pleasure to a spinster of your age, but such 
researches are very attractive to me." 

"All I can add to the opinion already expressed 
is that when your so-called scientific researches 
not alone lead you to assume the character of an 
outcast, and cause you to wander about at night 


w— — hi—ii mi m ■ ■■iiw— m n iii wii i ■■ ■ h i ■u n man mm 


like a homeless cat, but also induce you to make 
our home a receptacle for all the stray, vulgar, 
dirty negroes that happen to come to Boston, I 
must certainly protest against indulgence in such 
researches by you," retorted the elderly maiden 
severely, as she cast her glances about her immac- 
ulately clean apartment, and remembered some 
disagreeable event of the last few months. 

David was highly amused by this speech, for 
he gave utterance to a cackling kind of laugh and 

"Arabella, you'll never get to heaven if the 
road be muddy. You will be fearful of getting 
your skirts soiled. I shall be right sorry for your 
soul if the path to the other place be clean. I 
fear in that event that nothing could hold you 
back from going straight to Hades." ^jr 

"Don't be ridiculous, David. You know full 
well that I am no more particular about tidiness 
than every other decent woman." 

What monomaniac on the subject of cleanliness 
ever thought otherwise? 

"I insist," continued Miss Arabella indig- 
nantly, "that when one indulges a fad to the 



extent of disarranging an entire household, under 
the pretense that it is part of a scientific research, 
it is time to protest against such proceedings." 

"Oh, I don't imagine that the entire household 
has seriously suffered by my investigations in the 
field of ethnology," replied the brother still enjoy- 
ing his sister's perturbation of mind as she re- 
called some recent experiences. 

"It may be highly amusing to you, David. I 
hope that you enjoy the joke, but it has been any- 
thing but amusing to me and to Bridget, having 
to clean, rub and air every article of furniture in 
the house two or three times each week, and it is 
no laughing matter to freeze while the cold wind 
blows the disgusting odors left by vour guest out 
of the rooms. Bridget has notified me that she 
will leave if you continue to make a hostelry for 
dirty darkies out of the house," said the sister 
fairly shivering at the remembrance of the condi- 
tion in which she had found her spotless premises 
after a visit of some of her brother's newly found 

"I don't think that I am the only member of 
this family that has a hobby, Arabella," replied 



Chapman grinning at the flushed little lady. 

"I am unaware of what you refer to, David. I 
certainly have no such uncomfortable idiosyn- 
crasy as a hard ridden hobby." 

"Don't you think even cleanliness may become 
a most pestiferous hobby?" queried Chapman 
with assumed guilelessness. 

"Cleanliness and tidiness are but other words 
for common decency, and can never be classed 
with the vagaries of a 'born investigator/ " said 
the spinster sarcastically, sticking her dictum into 
her needlework, savagely. 

"You doubtless have heard, Arabella, of the 
woman who possessed so much of what you call 
'common decency' that she forced her family to 
live in the barn in order that the dwelling might 
remain clean and tidy," answered Chapman, to 
whom the wrath of Arabella was the greatest 
pleasure imaginable. 

"I only wish that we had a 'barn. I would soon 
enough force you to entertain your negro visitors 
there instead of bringing their odoriferous per- 
sons and filthy accompaniments into this house," 
cried the sister vindictively. 



"You must be reasonable, my most precise sis- 
ter," said David. 

"When I became interested in the science of 
ethnology, I deemed it expedient to begin by 
studying the negro race, their habits, characteris- 
tics, manners and tendencies. Being a man born 
and bred in a northern state I have never had the 
opportunities possessed by southerners, who are 
surrounded by negroes from infancy, to know the 
traits of that most interesting race. Hence I have 
been forced, on behalf of science, to go forth and 
gather such material as was obtainable for sub- 
jects of study and observation." 

"David, don't be hypocritical with me; you 
know that neither ethnology nor the negro race 
possessed the slightest interest for you, until you 
learned that Walter Burton had a strain of negro 
blood in his veins." 

"I do not deny that my zeal was not diminished 
by that fact," answered Chapman shortly and 

"And I maintain that your zeal is caused en- 
tirely by that fact, and I wish to say further, 
David Chapman," exclaimed the withered wisp of 



a woman, drawing herself up very straight in her 
chair and looking angrily at her brother, "if all 
this investigation and research lead to anything 
that may cause trouble, annoyance or pain to 
Lucy Dunlap, whom I have held in these arms as 
a baby, then I say that you are a wicked, ungrate- 
ful man, and I wish to know nothing of your dia- 
bolic designs, nor of the disgusting science that 
you call ethnology." 

God bless the dried-up spinster! God bless 
thy bony, skinny arms that held that baby ! 
Thrice blessed be the good and kindly heart that 
beats warmly in thy weak and withered little 

Seriously and steadily did Chapman gaze for 
a minute at the vehement, fragile figure before 
him, then said meditatively, 

"I believe she loves the Dunlap name as much 
as I do myself." 

"More, indeed a great deal more, for I could 
not cause pain to one of that name even though 
I benefited all the other Dunlaps who have ever 
been born by so doing," quickly cried the old 



"Don't alarm yourself needlessly, sister," said 
Chapman earnestly. 

"My investigations are neither undertaken to 
injure Lucy nor could they do so even had I that 
intention. It is too late. I am perfectly frank 
and truthful when I state that the subject is ex- 
ceedingly interesting to me, and the developments 
fascinating. Since I have familiarized myself 
somewhat with the leading peculiarities of the 
negro race I recognize much more of the negro in 
Burton than I imagined could possibly exist in 
one possessing so great a preponderance of the 
blood of the white race." 

"I am glad to learn that no harm can come to 
Lucy by your persistent pursuit after knowledge 
of ethnology, but I must say it does not seem to 
me a very genteel course of conduct for a man of 
you age and education to be spying about and 
watching an associate in business," said the can- 
did Arabella. 

"I assure you that I am not obliged either to 
play the spy or watch particularly, for it seems 
to me that the negro in Burton positively obtrudes 
itself daily. In fact I am certain that it is neither 



because I am watching for such evidences, nor 
because I can now recognize negro traits better 
than formerly, but simply because the negro in 
the man becomes daily more obtrusively appar- 
ent," answered Dunlap's superintendent as he 
began tuning and testing his favorite musical in- 

Even the most prejudiced critic would be 
forced to admit that whatever David Chapman 
undertook to do he accomplished well. He never 
relaxed in persistent effort until an assigned task 
was performed. He became for the time being 
absolutely fanatic upon any subject he had before 
him. His performance on the violoncello was of 
the same character as his efforts in other direc- 
tions where his attention was demanded. It was 
artistic, magnificent, sympathetic and impressive. 

To the violoncello Chapman seemed to tell his 
soul-story; through it he breathed those hidden 
sentiments that were so deeply buried in the 
secret recesses of his heart that their existence 
could never be suspected. Music seemed the 
angel guarding with flaming sword the gateway 
of this peculiar man's soul. When music raised 



the barrier glimpses of unexpected beauties sur- 
prised all those who knew the jealous, prying, 
cynical nature of the man. 

As David Chapman began playing his sister 
with closed eyes rested her head on the back of 
the rocking chair and bathed her lonely old heart 
in the flood of melody that poured from the in- 
strument in her brother's hands. 

How that music spoke to the poor, craving, 
hungry heart within her flat and weazen bosom. 
Youth and hope seemed singing joyous songs of 
life's springtime; love then burst forth blushing 
while whispering the sweet serenade of that glor- 
ious summer season of womankind. Then in 
cadence soft and tender, gently as fall the autumn 
leaves, the music sadly told of blighting frosts. 
Youth and hope like summer roses withered and 
vanished. Now the gloom, despair and disap- 
pointment of life's winter wailing forth filled the 
heart of the forlorn old maiden; tears rolled 
down her wrinkled cheeks unheeded and almost 
a sob escaped from her quivering lips. 

Weep no more sad heart. The music in peal- 
ing tones of triumph is shouting the Glad Tidings 



of that eternity of endless spring, where all is 
Love and all is Joy; where the flowers of ever- 
lasting summer never fade and die; where no 
blighting frost can come to wither the blossoms 
of Youth and Hope; where the cold blasts of 
winter's gloom and disappointment never blow to 
chill and sadden the soul. 

Grandly resound those notes triumphant; open 
seem the gates of that promised future, together 
brother and sister their souls seem ascending; 
above all is bright, refulgent with the great light 
of gladness, now, coming sweetly, faintly, they 
catch the sound of welcome, sung above by that 
heavenly chorus. 

The music died away in silence. Brother and 
sister sat for a long time, each busy with their 
own thoughts. Who but the All-wise can ever tell 
what thoughts come on such occasions to those 
who in silence hold self-communion in the sanc- 
tuary of their own souls. 

"David, it seems strange to me that one having 
the tenderness of heart that you have, should 
never have found some good woman to love," 
said the sister softly when the silence was finally 



"Indeed, sister, I sometimes think I might have 
done so and been happier far than I am, had I 
not early in life given, in the intense way that is 
part of my nature, all the love of my heart and 
consecrated all my devotion to the business in 
which I then engaged and submerged my every 
emotion in the glory and honor of the house of 
'J. Dunlap.' " 

"Ah, brother, I often think of that and wonder 
what would happen if aught should go wrong 
with the object of your life-long devotion/' 

"It would kill me, Arabella," said Chapman 

The certainty of the result to the man, should 
misfortune shatter the idol of his adoration, was 
more convincingly conveyed to the listener by that 
simple sentence and quiet tone than excited ex- 
clamation could have carried; Arabella uttered a 
sigh as she thought of the unshared place that 'J. 
Dunlap' held in the strenuous soul of her brother. 

"Brother, you should not allow your mind and 
heart to become so wrapped up in the house of 
Dunlap; remember the two old gentlemen, in the 
course of nature, must soon pass away and that 



then there is no Dunlap to continue the business, 
and the career of the firm must come to an end." 

"No, Arabella, that may not happen," replied 
Chapman. His voice, however, gave no evidence 
of the pleasure that such a statement from him 
seemed to warrant. 

'There was an anti-nuptial contract entered 
into by Burton, in which it is agreed that any 
child born to James Dunlap's granddaughter shall 
bear the name of Dunlap ; hence the career of our 
great house will not necessarily terminate upon 
the death of the twin brothers." 

"I am so glad to know that, David. I have 
been much concerned for your sake, brother, fear- 
ing the dire consequences of the death of both of 
the old gentlemen whom you have served so de- 
votedly for forty odd years." The reassured lit- 
tle creature paused and then a thought, all wo- 
manly, occurred to her mind reddening her 
peaked visage as she exclaimed, 

"What beautiful children the Burton-Dunlaps 
should be!" 

A worried, anxious, doubtful look came over 
Chapman's countenance. He gazed at the floor 



thoughtfully for several minutes and then ap- 
parently speaking to himself said, 

"That is the point; there is where I am at sea; 
it is that question that gives me most anxiety." 

"Why, what can you mean, most inscrutable 
man, Mr. Burton is one of the handsomest men 
that I ever saw and surely no prettier woman 
ever lived than sweet Lucy Dunlap," cried the 
loyal-hearted old maid. 

"It is not a question of beauty, it is a question 
of blood. If it be only a matter of appearances 
Lucy Burton's children would probably be mar- 
vels of infantine loveliness, but it is a scientific 
problem," replied David seriously and earnestly. 

"What in the name of all that is nonsensical 
has science to do with Lucy's babies if any be 
sent to her?" cried out Miss Arabella, forgetting 
in her excitement that maidenly reserve that was 
usually hers. 

"I regret to say that science has a great deal to 
do with the subject," answered the brother quiet- 
ly. "It is a matter of grave doubt in the minds of 
many scientific men whether, under any circum- 
stances, an octoroon married to one of the white 



race ever can produce descendants; it is claimed 
by many respectable authorities that negro blood 
is not susceptible of reduction beyond the point 
attained in the octoroon; that it must terminate 
there or breed back through its original channel," 
continued Chapman. 

"It is not true ! I don't believe a word of such 
stuff," ejaculated Miss Arabella, dogmatically. 

"Authorities admit, it is true, that there may be 
exceptions to the invariability of this law, but 
claim that such instances are faults in nature and 
likely, as all faults in nature, to produce the most 
astounding results. These authorities assert that 
the progeny of an octoroon and one of the white 
race being the outcome of a fault in nature, are 
certain to be deficient in strength and vigor, are 
apt to be deformed, and even may possibly breed 
back to a remote coal-black ancestor," said Chap- 
man, speaking slowly, punctuating each sentence 
with a gasping sound, almost a groan. 

"Stuff and nonsense !" exclaimed his sister ris- 
ing in indignation from her chair and moving 
toward the door, saying, 

"I positively will hear no more of your absurd 



science. It's all foolishness. If that be the idiocy 
that you learn from ethnology I think that you 
had better occupy your time otherwise. Thanks 
to your 'authorities' and their crazy notions, I 
suppose that I shall dream all night of monkeys 
and monsters, but even that is better than sitting 
her and listening to my brother, whom I supposed 
had some brains, talk like a fit subject for the 
lunatic asylum." With the closing sentence, as a 
parting shot at her brother the incensed spinster 
sailed out of the door and with a whisk went up 
stairs to her virgin chamber. 



LUCY BURTON is a perfect dream to- 
night, is she not ?" exclaimed enthusias- 
tically Alice Stanhope, gazing admir- 
ingly at the fair companion of her school days 
who had just entered the room leaning on the 
arm of her husband. 

"Almost as pretty as you are," gallantly replied 
'Bertie' Winthrop, to whom the remark of the 
young woman was addressed. 

"Well, don't expect me to vie with you in flat- 
tery and reply by saying that Mr. Burton is al- 
most as handsome as you are, for I am like the 
father of our country, 'I can't tell a lie.' " 

"Oh ! Now, that's good. I am justified in sup- 
posing from that speech that Burton is not nearly 
as handsome as I am, much obliged," replied 
young Winthrop, laughing and making a pro- 
found obeisance to the pretty creature beside him. 

"You know what I mean you rascal, so don't 



try to look innocent. See with what adoring 
glances Lucy looks up into her husband's face," 
said Miss Stanhope again calling her attendant's 
attention to the group of guests near the entrance. 

"Are you going to look at me like that a year 
from now?" asked 'Bertie' in a quizzical fashion 
as he slyly squeezed the dimpled elbow near his 
side. On dit, Alice Stanhope and Albert Win- 
throp will soon be married. 

"Bertie, you horrid tease, I don't believe you 
will ever deserve to be looked at except angrily," 
retorted the blushing girl and added as she 
moved a little further from him, 

"And you behave, sir, or I won't let you remain 
by me another minute. 

"It's a deuce of a crush you have gotten up," 
said 'Bertie' promptly disregarding the warning 
that he had received by stepping up close to the 
side of his fiancee. 

"Where did you get all these people anyway, 

"There's no 'all these people' about it, they are 
the musical set among my friends in Boston and 
New York ; as Signor Capello and Mme. Cantara 



are to sing of course everyone invited was eager 
to be present." 

"Never invite all your musical friends to dine 
with us when we are — " 

"Hush, you embarrassing wretch," cried Miss 
Stanhope turning to welcome some recently ar- 
rived guests. 

After considerable diplomatic finessing and 
resort to that most efficacious auxiliary, "Papa's 
cheque book/' Miss Stanhope had secured the 
services of the two great operatic luminaries to 
sing at a grand musicale given by her. 

All the "swell set" of Boston and New York 
thronged the palacious home of the Stanhope's on 
the occasion. The gray-haired, courtly governor 
of Massachusetts was chatting as gaily with 
petite Bessie Winthrop as he had done with her 
grandmother a half century before. Foreign 
diplomatists and Federal potentates discussed in 
corners the comparative merits of Italian and 
German composers of music ; literary lights from 
all over New England joined the musical element 
of New York and Boston in filling the Stanhope's 



"I insisted upon coming here tonight, Alice, 
even though this over-worked husband of mine 
did complain of a headache at dinner and I was 
loathe to have him accompany me. You remem- 
ber this is the anniversary of my wedding and I 
wished to celebrate the day," said Lucy Burton 
to the hostess when at last Burton had managed 
to make a way for himself and wife through the 
crowded rooms and reached the place where Miss 
Stanhope was receiving her guests. 

"I am awfully glad you came, dear. We are 
sure to have a treat. Signer Capello has prom- 
ised to sing "something from the new opera by 
Herman that has just been produced in Berlin," 
and addressing Burton Miss Stanhope added, 

"I trust that your headache has disappeared." 

"Thank you, Miss Alice, it has entirely van- 
ished under the influence of my charming wife's 
ministrations, and the brilliant gathering about 
me here," replied Burton. 

"A slight pallor and circles around sad eyes, 
you know, Mr. Burton, give an exceedingly in- 
teresting and romantic appearance to dark men," 
rejoined Alice Stanhope smiling in spite of her 



effort not to do so when she noticed the anxious, 
worshiping look with which Lucy regarded her 

"Really, I believe Lucy is more in love than she 
was a year ago," said the laughing hostess as she 
turned to receive the German Ambassador, who 
had traveled all the way from Washington in the 
hope of hearing selections from Herman's new 

In all that gathering of fair women and gallant 
men, there was no couple so noticeable as the 
splendid pair who this day one year before were 

As Burton and his wife passed through the 
crowded halls all eyes were turned toward them, 
paying mute tribute to the exceeding beauty of 
both man and woman. 

Burton, by one of those sudden rebounds of 
spirit to which he was subject, inspired by the 
gaiety about him was in a perfect glow of intel- 
lectual fire. The brilliancy of his well trained 
mind never shone more brightly, his wit scintil- 
lated in apt epigrams, and incomparably clever 
metaphors. He won the heart of the German 




Ambassador by discussing with the taste and dis- 
crimination of a savant that distinguished Teu- 
ton's favorite composer, Herman, using the deep 
gutturals of the German language with the ease 
of a native of Prussia. 

He exchanged bon-mots with wicked old Coun- 
tess DeMille, who declared him a preux chevalier 
and the only American whom she had ever met 
who spoke her language, so she called French, 
like a Parisian. 

Lucy's beaming face and sparkling eyes told 
of the rapture of pride and love that filled her 
heart. She looked indeed the "Princess" as with 
her well-turned head, with its gold-brown 
crown, held high, she proudly looked upon her 
lover and her lord and caught the approval and 
applause that appeared in every eye about her. 

Never had her husband seemed so much super- 
ior to all other men, in Lucy's mind, as he did this 
night. Wherever they paused in their passage 
around the rooms, that spot immediately became 
the center of a group of people eager to render 
homage to the regal beauty of the young matron, 
and to enjoy the wit and vivacity of the most 
distingue man present. 



"Ah, Mr. Burton, I see that the splendor of the 
Rose of Dunlap remains undiminished, notwith- 
standing its transference from the garden of its 
early growth," said the gallant Governor of the 
old Bay State when greeting the young couple as 
they stopped near him. 

"The splendor of the roses of Massachusetts 
is so transcendent that it would remain unim- 
paired in any keeping how e'er unworthy," re- 
plied Lucy's husband, bowing gracefully to the 
Executive of the State. 

"When I saw you enter the room, Mrs. Burton, 
I hoped to see my old friend, your grandfather, 
follow. How is James ? You see I take the liber- 
ty of still speaking of him as I did many years 
before your bright eyes brought light into the 
Dunlap mansion." 

"Grandfather is very well, thank you, Gover- 
nor, but I failed to coax him away from his easy 
chair and slippers this evening; beside I think he 
was a little 'grump," as I call it, about having lost 
a wager to a certain young woman of about my 
height; he declared it was not the box of gloves 
but loss of prestige that he disliked," answered 



Lucy merrily as she looked up at the amused 
countenance of the Governor. 

"I fear that I shall be obliged to exercise my 
official prerogative and give that gay youth, 
James Dunlap, a lecture if I hear anything more 
of his reckless wagers," said the jocose old gen- 
tleman, and then added: 

"By the way, Mrs. Burton, the newspapers this 
evening contain long accounts of the magnificent 
conduct of a New England sea captain, to whom 
the King of England has sent a letter of congrat- 
ulation and praise. As the name given is Captain 
John Dunlap, I have been wondering if it can be 
that stubborn fellow whom your Uncle John and 
I endeavored to convince that he ought to enter 

"It is the same stubborn, dear old cousin Jack 
who preferred the sea to being sent to Harvard, 
and he is the best and bravest sailor on the waters 
blue," answered Lucy quickly, her face flushed by 
pleasure at hearing Jack's praises sung and pride 
in knowing that he was her kinsman. 

"It seems the lad was wiser than we were when 
he refused to be convinced by John and me. A 

1 60 


grand sailor might have been spoiled in the mak- 
ing of a poor scholar. As long as the sailor sons 
of Uncle Sam can number men of your cousin 
Jack's kind among them we need never fear for 
honor of the Gem of the Ocean," said the Gover- 
nor quite seriously. 

"I heartily endorse that sentiment, your Excel- 
lency, but fear that on land or sea it would be 
difficult to discover many men like Jack Dunlap," 
exclaimed Walter Burton warmly. 

"When is he coming home, Lucy? You know 
that I lost my heart the first time that I met your 
bronzed sailor cousin, and am waiting anxiously 
for my mariner's return," said Bessie Winthrop, 
her violet-colored eyes twinkling with the glad- 
ness of youth and happiness, En passant she was 
a fearful little flirt. 

"He does not say in his letters when we may 
expect him, but when I write I'll tell him what 
you say, and if he does not hurry home after that 
nothing can induce him to do so," said Lucy as 
she moved away with her husband to make room 
for several admirers of Miss Winthrop who were 
eagerly awaiting an opportunity to pay court to 

that popular young lady. 



Just as Burton and his wife left the Governor 
and his pretty companion, the tuning of instru- 
ments announced the prelude to the programme 
for the evening. Silence fell upon the assembly, 
the gentlemen sought seats for the ladies and se- 
cured the most available standing room for them- 

Surely Signor Capello never sang so grandly 
before. The superb harmony of Herman's great 
composition rilled the souls of that cultivated 
audience. The German Ambassador was in a 
perfect ecstasy of delight, and even the least ap- 
preciative were impressed, while the hypercritic, 
casting aside all assumption of ennui, became en- 

Madame Cantara trilled and warbled in tones 
so clear, flute-like and sweet that to close one's 
eyes was to imagine the apartment some vast for- 
est, filled with a myriad of feathered songsters, 
vying with each other for woodland supremacy in 
Apollo's blessed sphere. 

Miss Stanhope's musicale was a pronounced 
and splendid success. Nothing approaching it 
had entertained Boston's fastidious "four hun- 
dred" that season. 



Burton declared that it was the most delightful 
function he had attended in years, when Lucy, 
enwrapped in furs, was closely nestled at his 
side in the carriage after the entertainment was 
over. Burton was par excellence a judge of such 
affairs. In fact, he had been accorded the position 
of arbiter elegantiarum by a tacit understanding 
among people of taste and culture in Boston's 
elite society. 

It was among such scenes, surroundings, en- 
vironments and society as above described that 
Burton's life had been passed since coming to 
America. It was in this joyous atmosphere that 
the first year of Lucy's married life glided by so 
rapidly that the length of time seemed difficult 
for her to realize. It was like the dream of a sum- 
mer's day, so bright, cloudless and calm, so frag- 
rant with the perfume of love's early blossoms, 

that its passage was as that of a fleeting shadow. 

The sinking sun cast lengthening shadows 
across Manila Bay, where swinging peacefully 
at their anchors lay the great war ships of several 
nations, and where the tall masts of a fleet of 


— — ™ 1MI1IIII 


merchantmen caused bars of shade to stripe the 
burnished waters of the Bay. 

The starry flag of the great Republic had re- 
ceived that salute, ever loyally given by the sons 
of Columbia, as the sun sank beneath the horizon, 
and the bugle blew its farewell to the departing 
orb of day. 

Four majestic, floating fortresses, on whose 
decks stood uncovered crews as the proud flag of 
the union descended, gave notice to the world of 
the might of that young giant of the west that 
held dominion in the Philippines. 

Striding along in the rapidly darkening twi- 
light, up the main street of Manila, walked one 
who would have been known as a sailor by his 
swinging, rolling gait, even without the nautical 
cut and material of the clothing that he wore. 

As he approached the newly erected, palacious 
American hotel, around which ran a broad 
veranda filled with tables and chairs, the chief re- 
sort of the army and naval officers stationed at 
Manila, a voice cried from the balcony above 

"Jack Dunlap, by all that is marvelous !" 



The sailor-man looked up and with an excla- 
mation of pleased recognition, shouted: 

"Tom Maxon, by all that is fortunate!" 

"Come up here this instant, you sea-dog, wet 
your whistle and swap yarns with me," called the 
first speaker, rising from the table at which he 
was seated and hurrying to the top of the half 
dozen steps that rose from the sidewalk to the 
entrance on the veranda. 

The two men shook hands with the warmth 
and cordiality of old cronies, when the sailor 
reached the balcony. The meeting was evidently 
as agreeable as it was unexpected. 

The man who had been seated on the veranda, 
when the sailor approached, was apparently of 
the same age as the friend whose coming he had 
hailed with delight. He, too, was evidently a 
son of Neptune, for he wore the cap and undress 
uniform of a lieutenant in the United States 

He was a big, fine man on whose good-looking, 
tanned face a smile seemed more natural, and, 
in fact, was more often seen than a frown. 

"Jack, old man, you can't imagine how glad I 



f 1 1 III JMM^^I^^«1lll ■ III I Ml^ MM 

am to run afoul of you. Had the choice been left 
to me as to whom I would choose to walk up the 
street just now, I'd have bawled out 'Good old 
Jack Dunlap!' Well, how are you anyway? 
Where've you been? and how are all in Boston? 
But first let's have a drink; what shall it be, 

All of these questions and ejaculations were 
made while the naval man still held Jack's hand 
and was towing him along like a huge, puffing 
tug toward the table from which the officer 
sprang up to welcome his companion. 

"By Jove, Tom, give me time to breathe; you've 
hurled a regular broadside of questions into my 
hull. Haul off and hold a minute; cease firing! 
as you fighters say," expostulated our old ac- 
quaintance, Captain Jack, as he was fairly shoved 
into a chair at the table and opposite the laugh- 
ing and red-faced lieutenant. 

"Come here, waiter," called Maxon to a pass- 
ing attendant, in high glee over Jack's cry for 
quarter and his own good luck in meeting an old 
chum when he was especially lonely and eager to 
have a talk about home and friends. 



"Bring us a bottle of champagne and let it be 
as cold as the Admiral's heart when a poor devil 
of a lieutenant asks for a few day's shore leave." 

"Now, my water-logged consort, we will first 
and foremost drink in a brimming bumper of 
'Fizz' the golden dome in Boston and the 
bonny-bright eyes of the beauties that beam on 
it," exclaimed jolly Tom Maxon, bubbling over 
with happiness at having just the man he wished 
to talk about Boston with. 

"I say ! Tom, have you been studying up on al- 
literation? You rang in all the B's of the hive in 
that toast," said the merchant skipper, emptying 
his glass in honor of Boston and her fair daugh- 

"I don't require thought or study to become 
eloquent when the 'Hub' and her beauties be the 
theme, but you just up anchor and sail ahead giv- 
ing an account of yourself, my hearty." Tom re- 
plied with great gusto. 

"To begin, then, as the typical story writer 
does, one November day some thirteen months 
ago, I sailed away (I've caught the complaint. 
I came near making a rhyme) from Boston in the 



good ship 'Adams.' When a week out of harbor 
as per instructions from the house of Dunlap, I 
unsealed my papers to find that the ship had been 
presented to me by my kinsmen, the Dunlap 

"Stop! Hold, my hearty, until we drink the 
health of the jolly old twins. May their shadows 
never grow less and may the good Lord send 
along such kinsmen to poor Tom Maxon," inter- 
rupted the irreverent Tom, filling the glasses and 
proceeding to honor the toast by promptly drain- 
ing his. 

Jack and Tom had been pupils in the same 
school in Boston when they were boys. Their 
tastes and dispositions being much alike they be- 
came chums and warm friends. Like young 
ducks, both of the lads naturally took to the 
water. When they had gotten through with the 
grammar-school an appointment to the Annapolis 
Naval Academy was offered to young Maxon by 
the representative of his Congressional district, 
which he joyfully accepted, and hence was now a 
United States officer. Jack had entered the High 
School and later the merchant marine service. 


Though seeing but little of each other after 
their first separation, the same feeling of friend- 
ship and comradeship was maintained between 
Jack and Tom that had existed when as Boston 
schoolboys they chummed together, and when- 
ever, at rare intervals, they were fortunate enough 
to meet they mutually threw of! all the reserve 
that had come to them with age and became Bos- 
ton boys once again. 

"Now, heave ahead, my bully-boy !" cried Tom, 
putting down his empty wine glass. 

"In addition to the gift of the ship from the 
firm, I found that my old cousin John had per- 
sonally presented me with a large part of the 
ship's cargo." 

"Again hold! you lucky sea-dog! Here's to 
dear old Cousin John, and God bless him !" called 
Tom gleefully, his generous sailor-soul as happy 
over the good fortune of his friend as if he him- 
self had been the beneficiary of Mr. John Dun- 
lap's munificence, again pledging Jack's kind 
kinsman in a glass of iced wine. 

"With all my heart I say, amen! Tom, God 
never made better men and more liberal kinsmen 



than the 'J- Dunlaps,' " said Jack earnestly as he 
began again his recital. 

"When I arrived in Melbourne I disposed of 
my cargo through our agents, loaded and sailed 
for Liverpool, returned to Melbourne, took on a 
cargo for Manila, and here I am drinking to long 
life and good health to my two old kinsmen with 
my school fellow Tom Maxon." 

"And the future programme is what" said the 

"You have left out lots about yourself, that I 
know of, concerning your past movements, so 
try to be truthful about your future plans," con- 
tinued Maxon, assuming an inquisitorial air. 

"All right, my knowing father confessor," 
answered Dunlap, laughing. 

"I have done well as far as making money is 
concerned, which statement I wish added to my 
former deposition. Oh! most wise judge; I pro- 
pose sailing within the week for Hong-kong, 
thence to San Francisco, from the latter port I 
desire to clear for Boston, in God's country, stop- 
ping, however, at Port au Prince, Haiti, both as 
a matter of business and also with the design of 



personally thanking my kind godfather for his 
gifts. Finally I hope to reach New England and 
be with my dear mother while yet the Yankee 
hills are blooming with summer flowers. One 
word further and my story is finished. My ob- 
ject in returning to Boston is to induce my 
mother to return with me to Australia, where I 
have purchased some property and where I de- 
sire to make my home in future — finis — " 

"Fairly well told, my bold buccaneer; however, 
I disapprove of your making Australia your 
home. Now, sir, what about saving a few small- 
pox patients, emigrants, and such like, and re- 
ceiving a letter from H. M. King of England, and 
such trifles as we read of in the newspaper ?" de- 
manded Tom, sententiously. 

"Oh! That just happened, and there has been 
too much said about it to find a place on my log- 
book," replied Jack, shortly, coloring just a shade. 

"I'm ! — well, no matter — I don't agree with 
you, but I will shake your hand once again and 
say that I find my old chum as modest as I al- 
ways knew him to be brave," rejoined Tom 
Maxon, rising, reaching over and grasping Jack's 



hand, and bowing gravely and respectfully as he 
held it. 

Jack's face was now all fire-red, as he said in 
great embarrassment: 

"Oh, Pshaw, slack up, Tom, haul off." 

"You know what the Admiral said when he 
read the account of what you had done?" cried 
out Tom when he settled back in his chair. 

"Of course, you don't, but it's a fine ram at the 
merchant marine. The Admiral thinks that an 
officer for sea service can't be made except at 
Annapolis. When he read of what you had done, 
he exclaimed: 'That fellow is almost good 
enough to be an officer in the United States 
Navy.' The Executive officer who heard the Ad- 
miral repeated it, and ever since the fellows of 
our mess, who hate some of the 'snobs' that An- 
napolis sends to us, have been quietly poking fun 
at the old man about it." 

"Now, will Lieutenant Thomas Maxon, U. S. 
N., in all the glory of his Annapolis seamanship, 
give an account of himself?" broke in Jack, anx- 
ious to escape further mention of his own affairs. 

"The last time I saw you, Tom, you were 



dancing at the end of Bessie Winthrop's hawser. 
Though I had never, at the time, met your charm- 
er, I thought her a pretty craft." 

"That's it! Now you touch the raw spot!" 
cried Tom. 

"I was stationed at Boston, and went about 
some little. I met Bert Winthrop's sister and, 
like an ass of a sailor that I am, fell in love with 
her at the first turn of the wheel. Well, I rolled 
around after the beauty like a porpoise in the 
wake of a dolphin for the whole season. Finally 
I mustered up courage to bring the chase to a 
climax and got a most graceful conge for my 
temerity, whereupon I retired in bad order, and 
was rejoiced when assigned to the battleship 
Delaware and sent to sea." 

As the rollicking sailor ended his story, he 
threw back his head and began softly singing in 
a sentimental tone, "Oh ! Bessie, you have broken 
my heart." 

"Well, I'll go bail that the fracture won't kill 
you, you incorrigible joker," said Jack, interrupt- 
ing the flow of Maxon's sentimentality. 

"See, now, our best friends never take us 



seriously, and sympathize with us when we suf- 
fer," said the lieutenant dolefully. 

"But to continue my sad story. I was ordered 
to the U. S. S. Delaware, flag-ship of the Asiatic 
fleet. Admiral Snave can out-swear Beelzebub, 
has the sympathy of a pirate, and would work up 
all the old iron of a fleet if there was as much in 
it as in the mountains of Pennsylvania. So your 
poor, delicate friend is tempted to ask to be re- 
tired on account of physical disability." So say- 
ing, Tom began roaring with laughter so health- 
ful that it shook his stalwart frame. 

"Hold though!" exclaimed the U. S. officer, 
stopping in the midst of his outburst of merri- 
ment, suddenly thinking of something omitted. 

"You must understand that we all admire the 
Admiral hugely. He is a magnificent officer, and 
a fighter to the end of his plume; carries a chip 
on his shoulder when he imagines anyone is 
spoiling for a fight, or even looks crossways at 
grand Old Glory." 

Thus the two friends talked on, relating their 
experiences, joking each other, and laughing in 
that careless happy way, common alike to school- 
boys and those who sail the sea. 



Captain Dunlap declared that this berth was 
good enough for him, that he would drop his 
anchor right there, and calling a waiter proceeded 
to order everything on the menu for dinner, 
telling the waiter to serve it where they were and 
serve slowly so that they might enjoy a rambling 
conversation while they dined. 

Eating, drinking, talking and smoking, the 
chums of boyhood days sat for hours, until the 
streets became, as was the veranda, almost 
deserted. Suddenly in an interval of silence as 
they puffed their cigars, a piercing scream dis- 
turbed the quiet of the street below. Again and 
again was the cry repeated in an agonized female 

Both men sprang to their feet and peered along 
the dark avenue that ran toward the bay. About 
a block away they discerned just within the outer 
circle of light cast by an electric burner a strug- 
gling mass of men. At the instant that Jack and 
Tom discovered whence came the cries, a figure 
broke from the crowd and ran screaming through 
the illuminated spot on the avenue pursued by a 
half dozen men wearing the Russian naval uni- 



form. The pursued figure was that of a half nude 

With an angry growl, Jack Dunlap placed one 
hand on the low railing around the veranda and 
cleared it at a bound, landing on the sidewalk be- 
low, he broke into a run, and dashed toward the 
group of men under the electric light, who were 
struggling with the person whom they had pur- 
sued and recaptured. 

"The flag follows trade in this case," cried 
Maxon, who would joke even on his deathbed, as 
he, too, sprang to the pavement and raced after 

The brutal Finnish sailors of the Russian man- 
of-war in Manila Bay swore to their mess-mates 
that ten gigantic Yankees had fallen upon them 
and taken away the Malay girl. They thus ac- 
counted for their broken noses and discolored 

Truth is, that it was a rush; the working of 
four well-trained Yankee arms like the piston 
rods of a high-speed engine. Outraged American 
manhood and old Aryan courage against the 
spirit of brutal lustfulness, ignorance and race in- 
176 " 


"I say, Jack," cried out Maxon as he raised his 
face from the basin in which he had been bathing 
a bruise, "Why don't you go in for the P. R. 
championship? You must be a sweet skipper for 
a crew to go rusty with ! Why, Matey, yqu had 
the whole gang going before I even reached you. 
Look here, sonny, you are just hell and a hurri- 
cane in a shindy of that kind." 

"Well, I tell you, Tom," called Jack from the 
next room, where, seated on the edge of the bed, 
he was binding a handkerchief around the bleed- 
ing knuckles of his left hand. 

"That kind of thing always sets my blood 
boiling, but that in a city under our flag an out- 
rage of that kind should be attempted made me 
wild. I guess from the looks of my hands that 
maybe I did punch rather hard." Rising, Jack 
walked to the open door between the two bed- 
rooms and added: 

"I don't mind just a plain fight, or even some- 
times a murder, but when it comes to a brute as- 
saulting a woman or child, I'm damned if I don't 
become like one of Victor Hugo's characters, T 
see red.' Temper seems to surge in my very 



Jack's face, as he spoke, wore an angry scowl, 
to which 'the earnest gesticulations with his ban- 
daged fists gave double meaning. 

"Of course it surges in your blood, old chap, 
as it does on such occasions in mine and every 
other decent descendant of Shem and Japheth on 
earth," replied Tom Maxon. 



THE Scottish Bard has written that to see 
fair Melrose Abbey a-right, one must 
visit it in the moon's pale light. To see 
New England in its greatest glory one must visit 
that section of hallowed memories in the summer 

Then it is that granite hills are wrapped in 
emerald mantles. Then it is that hill-sides, slopes 
and meadows are dimpled with countless daisies, 
peeping enticingly from the face of smiling na- 
ture. Then it is brooks, released from winter's 
icy bondage, laugh, sing, dance and gambol like 
merry maidens in some care-free frolic. 

August, in the second year of Lucy Burton's 
married life, found Dunlap's mansion still occu- 
pied by the entire family. True, the Dunlap estate 
lay in the most elevated portion of the suburbs 
of Boston, and the house stood in the center of 



extensive grounds almost park-like in extent and 
arrangement, still it was unusual for the house 
to be occupied by the family at that season of the 

Generations of Dunlaps had sought relief from 
city life and bustle during the month of August, 
either among the Berkshire Hills, where an ornate 
villa had been owned by them for decades, or at 
Old Orchard, where their summer home was 
rather a palace than a cottage, though so called by 
the family. Burton, too, had a fine establishment 
at Newport; yet this eventful August found the 
family in their city residence. 

Many other things unusual attracted attention 
and caused comment among the associates of 
members of the Dunlap household. Burton and 
Lucy had been noticeably absent during the past 
few months from those public functions to which, 
by their presence, they had formerly given so 
much eclat. 

The very clerks in the office of J. Dunlap com- 
mented upon the jubilant spirit that had taken 
possession of, the always genial, manager. Chap- 
man regarded his apparent joyousness with sus- 



picion, and of all the office forces alone seemed 
displeased with its presence. 

To intimate friends Burton spoke of selling the 
"Eyrie," saying that it was of no further use or 
pleasure to him; that for months he had only 
been near it to select some choice flowers from 
the conservatory for the vases that adorned his 
wife's apartments. 

Mr. James Dunlap, ever the kindest, most con- 
siderate of beings, the gentlest of gentlemen, had 
become so solicitious concerning his grand-daugh- 
ter's comfort and care as to appear almost old 
womanish. The anxiety he displayed about all 
that tended to Lucy's welfare was absolutely 

Walter Burton's demeanor toward his young 
wife might, for all men, serve as a model of de- 
voted, thoughtful deportment on the part of hus- 
bands. To amuse and entertain her seemed his 
all-absorbing idea and object. To exercise his 
brilliant mental gifts in gay and enlivening con- 
versation was his chief pleasure. To use all the 
great musical talent that he possessed, to drive 
any momentary shadow of sadness from her 



spirit. To stroll about the garden in the moon- 
light, again whispering those words of love by 
which he had first won her, was blissful occu- 
pation to him. 

Even good old Uncle John in far-off Haiti im- 
bibed the spirit that seemed all pervading in the 
realm about the young matron. Great hampers of 
tropical fruits, plants and flowers came by trebly- 
paid expressage from the West Indies, speed 
alone being considered. They must be fresh when 
offered to Lucy. Then, too, almost daily mes- 
sages came over the cable from Haiti, "How are 
all today," signed "John," and it was ordered at 
the office that each day should go a message to 
Port au Prince, unless especially forbidden, say- 
ing, "All is well," this to be signed "James." 

Mrs. Church, the most sedate, composed and 
stately of old gentlewomen, too, is in a flutter of 
suppressed excitement, frequently closeted in 
deep and mysterious consultations with medical 
men and motherly looking women; giving 
strange orders about the preparation of certain 
dishes for the table, driving the chef almost dis- 
tracted by forbidding sauces that should always 



accompany some favorite entree of that tyrant. 

A suite of rooms in the Dunlap mansion has 
been newly decorated; nothing like these decora- 
tions has ever been seen before in Boston. In 
elegance, taste and beauty they are the ne plus 
ultra of decorative art. One, while in the sacred 
precincts of the recently remodeled apartments, 
might readily imagine that spring had been cap- 
tured and fettered here to make its sweet, bright 
presence perpetual in this favored place. Colors 
of the tinted sun-beam mingled with the peach 
blossom's tender shade to make the spot a bower 
of beauty wherein a smiling cupid might pause 
and fold his wings to slumber, forgetful of his 
couch of pink pearl shell. 

The cultured, artistic, delicate taste of Bos- 
ton's arbiter elegantiarum never produced any- 
thing approaching the exquisite blending of 
colors and unique, airy, harmonious fittings seen 
in this, the ideal conception of the abode of 

The delicacy and tenderness of Lucy's refined 
and loving spirit contributed to create an inde- 
finable feeling that this was the chosen spot where 



innocence, purity and love should seek repose. 
Her womanly instinct had added soft shadings to 
art's perfect handiwork. 

The great sea shell, half opened, made of shin- 
ing silver, lined with the pearly product of the 
Eastern Isles, in which lie, soft and white as 
snow, downy cushions, filled from the breasts of 
Orkney's far-famed fowls, and these be-trimmed 
with lace in tracery like frost on window pane, in 
texture so gossamery and light that the brief 
span of life seems all too short in which to weave 
one inch, must surely be the nest wherein some 
heaven-sent cherub shall nestle down in sleep. 

Some sprite from fairy-land alone may make a 
toilet with the miniature articles of Etruscan 
gold, be jeweled with gems of azure-hued tur- 
quois that fill the gilded dressing case. 

The chiffoniers, tables, chairs and stands are 
all inlaid with woods of the rarest kinds and 
colors, with ivory and polished pearl shells inter- 
woven in queerly conceived mosaic; mirrors of 
finest plate here and there are arranged that they 
may catch the beautous image of the cherubic oc- 
cupant of this bijou bower, and countlessly re- 



produce its angelic features; urns and basins of 
transparent china-ware, in the production of 
which France and Germany have surpassed all 
former efforts, beautified by the brushes of 
world-renowned artists, furnish vessels in which 
the rosy, laughing face and dimpled limbs may 

The Western hills have cooled the eager glance 
of the August sun. Lucy, softly humming as she 
assorts and arranges a great basket of choice buds 
and blossoms just arrived from the "Eyrie," is 
seated alone in a fantastic garden pagoda, which, 
trellised by climbing rose bushes, stands within 
the grounds of the Dunlap estate. 

As she rocks back and forth in the low chair 
that is placed there for her comfort, little gleams 
of sunshine sifting through the screen of roses 
wander amidst her gold-brown tresses and spot 
the filmy gown of white she wears with silver 
splashes. As the lights and shadows of the gent- 
ly swaying leaves and roses dance about her, she 
seems surrounded by hosts of cherubim in frolic- 
some attendance on her. Some thought of that 
nature came to her, for she let her hands lie still 



in her lap among the blossoms and watched the 
ever fleeting, changeful rays of sunlight and 
shade that like an April shower fell upon her. 
Then she smiled as at some unseen spirit and 
smiling grew pensive. 

The limpid light in Lucy's eyes, as gazing into 
the future she sees the coming glory of her wo- 
manhood, is that same light that shone along the 
road from Galilee to Bethlehem, when she, most 
blessed of women for all time, rode humbly on an 
ass to place an eternal monarch on a throne. 

That light in Lucy's pensive hazel eyes, that 
gentle, hopeful expectant look on her sweet face, 
has, from the time that men were born on earth 
subdued the fiery rage of angry braves in mortal 
strife engaged, has turned brutality into cower- 
ing shame, and caused the harshest, roughest and 
most savage of the human kind to smooth the 
brow, soften the voice and gently move aside, ren- 
dering ready homage to a being raised higher far 
than the throne of the mightiest king on earth. 

As she, who chambered with the cattle on 
Judah's hills, opened the passage from the groan- 
ing earth to realms of eternal bliss by what she 


gave to men, so ever those crowned with that 
pellucid halo of expected maternity stand holding 
ajar the gates that bar the path from man to that 
mysterious source of life and soul called God. 

It is woman in her grandest glory, who draws 
man and his Maker near together, with arms out- 
stretched and hands extended she grasps man 
and reaches up toward the Divine Author of our 

In simplest attire and humblest station she 
sanctifies the spot she stands upon. When most 
beset by want or danger there lives no man 
worthy of the name, who could refuse to heed her 
lightest call. 

Oh! that wistful, yearning, hopeful, tender, 
loving look that transfigured Lucy's sweet face 
until resemblance came to it, to that face that 
has employed the souls, hearts and hands of 
those most gifted by high heaven with pen and 

Out of this trance-like blissfulness the pensive 
dreamer was aroused by the coming of her ever 
constant guardian, her grandfather, who told her 
that Miss Arabella Chapman had called, bringing 



some offering that could be placed in no other 
hand than that of the young matron. 

Away hastened Lucy to greet the time-worn 
maiden, but fresh-hearted friend, and to hurry 
with her up to a sealed and sacred apartment, 
over whose threshold no male foot must ever step, 
wherein was hidden heaping trays and shelves of 
doll-like garments of marvelous texture and 
make, articles the names of which no man ever 
yet has learned to call, all so cunningly devised 
as to create the need of lace, embroidery or such 
matter on every edge and corner. 

Silky shawls and fleecy wraps, and funny little 
caps of spider-spun lace, and socks of soft stuff 
so small that Lucy's tiny thumb could scarce find 
room therein, all and much more than man can 
tell were here stored carefully away and only 
shown to closest friends by the fair warder of that 
holy keep. 

And, oh ! the loving, jealous care of Lucy. No 
hand but her own could fold these small gar- 
ments just right. What awful calamity might 
befall should one crease be awry or disturbed ; no 
eye so well could note some need in that dainty, 



diminutive collection of fairy underwear as hers; 
no breast could beat so tenderly as hers as close 
she pressed, fondled and kissed the little gowns 
for elfin wear. 

Who would for all the gold coined on earth 
rob her of one jot or tittle of her half-girlish, all- 
womanly joy and jealous care? Not one who 
ever whispered the word Mother ! 

That night the watchman and his faithful dog 
who guarded the Dunlap house and grounds, 
saw at the unseemly hour of two o'clock many 
lights suddenly appear within the mansion. The 
shadow of the family physician, white-haired and 
wise, flits by the windows of the room which, for 
some weeks, he has occupied. Mrs. Church in 
wrapper, lamp in hand, hastens by the great hall 
window and ascends the stairs, accompanied by 
an elderly woman, who a month before came to 
live in the mansion. Soon a window on the bal- 
cony is raised and Mr. James Dunlap in dressing 
gown and slippers steps out, accompanied by Mr. 
Burton, who seems too nervous to notice Mr. 
Dunlap's soothing hand placed on his shoulder. 

Soon the bell, that warns him to open wide the 


■ ragaignaiimi'iimn s— am 


outer gate, is rung, and then the watchman and 
his dog see no more of the commotion within the 
house. As he holds back the gate, he asks of the 
coachman, who, with the dog-cart and the horse, 
Dark Dick, is racing by: 

"What's the matter?" In reply he only catches 
the words : 

"Another nurse, d quick !" 

A standing order of the house of J. Dunlap 
was that should at any time neither J. Dunlap nor 
the manager appear by the noon hour, the super- 
intendent, Mr. Chapman, should take cab and 
hasten to the residence of Mr. James Dunlap for 
instructions concerning transactions that pressed 
for immediate attention. 

Five minutes after noon, on the day when 
at two o'clock in the morning the private watch- 
man had seen lights appear within the Dunlap 
mansion, David Chapman was seated in a cab 
speeding toward his employer's residence. 

As the cab turned the corner on the avenue that 
ran before the gate of the Dunlap place, the 
horse's hoof-beats were silenced. Chapman looked 
out; the straw-carpeted pavement told the whole 



story. He ordered the driver to stop his horse, 
and springing from the vehicle the superintend- 
ent, walking, proceeded the balance of the dis- 

The vigil and anxiety of the past night had told 
fearfully on well-preserved Mrs. Church, thought 
Chapman as he noted her drawn, white and 
frightened face, and listened to the awed tone of 
her voice, as she told him that a boy was born to 
Lucy ; that she was very ill ; that Mr. Burton was 
troubled and wretched over the danger of his 
wife, and would see no one; that Mr. Dunlap, ex- 
hausted by agony of mind and weakened by 
watching, had fainted, was now lying down and 
must not be disturbed under any circumstances. 

Chapman in mute amazement stared at the 
trembling lips that gave an account of the striking 
down, within so short a time, of all three mem- 
bers of the family. Speechless he stood and 
stared, but could find no words to express either 
his surprise or sorrow. As he stood thus, a faint 
and husky, yet familiar, voice called from the far 
end of the wide hall that ran through the center 
of the house. 


*"~f— "■" ' ■ "f" 'i w wi ffl " i T rffM« ,, timn»ii i uifiirn i -rTii n r TY -T m 


"David, wait ; I want you." 

With uncertain step, and bowed head, a figure 
came forward. As Chapman turned he saw that it 
was Mr. Dunlap. One moment the old employee 
gazed at the approaching man. Then springing 
toward him, he cried as he caught sight of the 
ashen hue on his old master's blanched and deep- 
lined face, and saw the blank look in his kind 
eyes : 

"You are ill, sir; sit down!" 

"Yes, David; I am not well; I am somewhat 
weak, but I wish to give you certain commands 
that must not, as you value my friendship, be 
disobeyed." The old man paused and painfully 
sought to gain command of his voice, and failing, 
gasped forth: 

"Send a message to my brother saying, 'It is a 
boy and all is well/ and add — David Chapman, 
do you understand me? — and add these very 
words, 'Do not come home ; it is unnecessary.' 
Sign the message 'James' — and, listen, Chapman, 
listen; no word that I am not well or my grand- 
daughter in danger must reach my brother 


— ^— 


"Your instructions shall be obeyed, sir," and 
Chapman's voice was almost as indistinct as that 
of his loved master. 

"What of the business, sir, while Mr. Burton is 
absent?" the ever- faithful superintendent asked. 

"Use your own discretion in everything," and 
with a dry, convulsive sob that shook his bended 
frame, he added in a whisper : 

"It makes no difference now." 

David Chapman heard the sob, and caught 
those heart-broken words. In an instant that 
strangely constituted man was on. his knees at the 
feet of him whom of all on earth he worshiped 

"Can I help you, sir, in your trouble? Say any- 
thing that man can do, and I shall do it, sir," cried 
Chapman piteously. 

"No, David, no ; but, David, I thank you. Go, 
my faithful old friend, and do what I have re- 

Chapman arose and pressed the wan hand that 
James Dunlap extended, then hurried from the 

Those who saw the superintendent that day 


r — ' i -' v . ■ ■mun nirwt— ■— — ■■hib^ n i n n im — nigfriw 


wondered why they were unable to tell whether 
it was grief or rage that marked the man's face 
so deeply. 

The message as dictated was sent that day to 



BY SPECIAL concession from the Haitian 
government, the blacks still maintain- 
ing a prejudice against white people 
owning real estate in Haiti, John Dunlap had 
purchased several acres of land lying in the out- 
skirts of Port au Prince, and had built a com- 
modious house thereon, constructed in accordance 
with the requirements of the warm climate of the 

To-night with impatient manner he is walking 
up and down the veranda which surrounds the 
house, accompanied by Captain Jack Dunlap, to 
whom he says : 

"I do not like the monotonous sentence that, 
without change, has come to me daily for two 
weeks past. It is not like my brother James, and 
something, that I cannot explain, tells me that all 
is not well at home in Boston." 

"Don't you think that this presentiment is only 



the result of anxiety; that you are permitting 
imaginary evils to disturb you, sir?" put in Jack 

"No, Jack, I do not. From boyhood there has 
existed an indescribable bond of sympathy be- 
tween my brother and myself that has always 
conveyed to each of us, no matter how far apart, 
a feeling of anxiety if trouble or danger threat- 
ened either one. For days this feeling has been 
increasing upon me, until it now has become un- 
bearable. I regret that I did not take passage on 
the steamer that sailed to-day for New York. 
Now I must wait a week." As Mr. Dunlap came 
to the end of his sentence, a chanting, croning 
kind of sound was heard coming from some spot 
just beyond the wall around his place. 

"Confound that old hag!" cried the impatient 
old gentleman, as he heard the first notes of the 
weird incantation, "for the last month, night and 
day, she has been haunting my premises, wail- 
ing out some everlasting song about Tu Konk, 
white cows, black kids, and such stuff, all in that 
infernal jargon of the mountain blacks. She 
looks more like the devil than anything else. I 



tried to bribe her to go away, but the old witch 
only laughed in my face. I then ordered her 
driven away, but the servants are all afraid of 
her and can't be induced to molest her." 

"She probably is only some half-witted old wo- 
man, whom the superstitious negroes suppose 
possessed of supernatural power. I don't think 
the matter worthy of your notice," said Jack. 

"I suppose it is foolish, but her hanging about 
my place just now, makes me nervous; but never 
mind the hag at present. I was going to say to 
you, when that howling stopped me, that so strong 
has become my feeling of apprehension within 
the last few hours that could I do so, I should 
leave Port au Prince to-night and hurry straight 
to Boston and my brother. This cursed Haitian 
loan, for which the English and American bank- 
ers hold our house morally, if not legally, re- 
sponsible, has held me in Haiti this late in the hot 
season, and, tonight, I would gladly assume the 
entire obligation legally, to be placed instantly 
on Boston Common." 

The positiveness and seriousness with which his 
kinsman spoke caused even Jack's steady nerves 



to become somewhat shaken. Just then footsteps 
were heard coming rapidly up the walk that led 
to the roadway. As the two Dunlaps reached the 
top step of the veranda a telegraph messenger 
sprang up the stairs and handed an envelope to 
Mr. John Dunlap. With trembling fingers he 
opened the paper and going to a lamp that hung 
in the hallway read it. Then with a cry of pain 
he would have fallen to the floor had not Jack's 
strong arms been around him. 

"I knew it, I knew it," he moaned. 

Jack took the message from the cold, numb 
hand of the grief-stricken man and read : 

"Come immediately; your brother dying, Lucy 
in great danger. David Chapman." 

Jack almost carried the groaning old man to a 
couch that stood in the hall, placing him upon 
it he hurried to the side-board in the dinner- 
room for a glass of wine or water; when he re- 
turned he found Mr. Dunlap sitting up, with his 
face hidden in his hands, rocking back and for- 
ward murmuring. 

"A million dollars for a steamer ; yea ! all I am 

worth for a ship to carry me to Boston! Oh! 

Brother, Brother!" 


Jack, though stricken to the heart by what 
the message said, still held firm grip upon his 
self-command for the sake of the kind old man 
before him. When he heard the muttered words 
of his suffering friend, for one instant he stood 
as if suddenly struck by some helpful idea, then 

"You have the fastest sailing ship on the At- 
lantic, Cousin John. The 'Adams' has only half 
a cargo aboard. She can beat any steamer that 
sails from Haiti to America, if there be breeze 
but sufficient to fill her canvas. My crew is 
aboard. Within one hour my water casks can be 
filled, the anchor up, the bow-sprit pointing to 
Boston, and, God send the wind, we'll see the 
Boston lights as soon as any steamer could show 
them to us, or I'll tear the masts out of the 
'Adams' trying." 

Like the revivifying effect of an electric 

shock, the words of the seaman sent new life 
into John Dunlap. He sprang to his feet, 
grabbed for a hat and coat lying on the hall- 
table and, ere Jack realized what was happenings 
was racing down the pathway, leading to the 

road, calling back: 



"Come on, my lad, come on !" 

Soon Jack was by the old man's side, passing 
his arm through that of his godfather, and thus 
helping him forward, their race toward the 
water was continued. 

Not one word was said to the house-servants. 
The Dunlaps saw no one before they dashed 
from the premises; no, not even the evil, flash- 
ing eyes of the old black hag, who, listening to 
what they said, peered at them through the low 
window case. , 

"Mr. Brice, .call all hands aft," commanded 
Captain Dunlap as he stepped upon the deck of 
his ship, half an hour after leaving the house of 
Mr. Dunlap in Port au Prince. 

"Men," said the skipper, when the astonished 
crew had gathered at the mast and were waiting. 

"Most of you have sailed with me for months, 
and know I 'crack on' every sail my ship can 
carry at all times. Now, listen well to what I 
say. This old gentleman at my side, my kins- 
man and friend, and I have those in Boston 
whom we love, and we have learned tonight that 
one of them is dying and one is in danger. We 



must reach Boston at the earliest moment possi- 
ble. Within the hour I'll heave my anchor up 
and sail, such carrying of sail, in weather fair 
or foul, no sailor yet has seen as I shall do. My 
masts may go. I'll take the chance of tearing 
them out of the ship if I can but gain one hour. 
No man must sail with me in this wild race un- 
willingly or unaware of what I intend to do. 
Therefore, from mate to cabin-boy, let him who 
is unwilling to share the perils of this trip step 
forward, take his wages and go over the side 
into the small boat that lies beside the ship." 

The skipper stopped speaking and waited; for 
some seconds there was a scuffling of bare feet 
and shoving among the knot of seamen, but no 
man said aught nor did any one step forward. 
At last the impatient master cried out, 

"Well, what's it to be ! Can no man among you 
find his tongue?" 

Then came more shuffling and shoving and 
half audible exclamations of "Say it yourself!" 
"Why don't you answer the skipper?" finally 
old Brice moved around from behind the captain 
and stood between him and the men. Then ad- 



dressing the master but looking at the crew, he 

"I think, sir, the men wish to say, that they 
are Yankee sailors, and see you and Mr. Dunlap 
half scuttled by your sorrow and that they will 
stick by you, and be d n to the sail you car- 
ry! Is that it, men?" 

A hoarse hurrah answered the first officer's 

"The mate says right enough; we'll stick to 
the ship and skipper," came in chorus from the 
brazen lungs of the crew. 

Such scampering about the deck was never 
seen before on board the "Adams" as that of the 
next thirty minutes. When the crew manned 
the capstan and began hoisting the anchor a 
strange black bundle, with gleaming eyes, came 
tumbling over the bow. The startled crew 
sprang away from what they took to be a huge 
snake, but seeing, when it gathered itself to- 
gether and stood upright, that it was an old witch 
of a black woman, they bawled out for the mate. 

The old termagant fought like a wild-cat, 
scratching and tearing at the eyes of the men 



as they bundled her over the ship's side and into 
the canoe in which she had come from the shore. 
All the time the hag was raving, spitting and 
swearing by all kinds of heathenish divinities 
that she would go to Boston to see "my grand- 
child," and muttering all sorts of imprecations 
and incantations, in the jargon of the West In- 
dies, upon the heads of all who attempted to pre- 
vent her. 

As the ship gathered headway and swung 
around, Mr. John Dunilap, who stood in (the 
stern, heard a weird chant, which he recognized 
as coming from below him. He looked over the 
railing and saw old Sybella standing upright in 
the canoe in which she had been thrust by the 
crew, waving her skinny bare arms, and chant- 

"Tu Konk, the great one" 
"Send her the Black Goat" 
"White cow, Black kid" 
"White teat, Black mouth" 
"Tu Konk, Oh, Tu Konk" 
"Black Blood, Oh, Tu Konk" 
"Callback, Oh! Tu Konk." 



When Sybella saw Mr. Dunlap she ceased her 
song, and began hurling savage and barbarous 
curses upon him and his, which continued until 
the tortured old gentleman could neither hear 
nor see the crone longer. 

There was just enough cargo aboard the 
"Adams" to steady her and give her the proper 
trim. As soon as Jack secured enough offing, 
in sailors' parlance he "cut her loose." Every- 
thing in shape of sail that could draw was set, 
the skipper took the deck nor did he leave it 
again until he sprang into a yawl in Boston har- 

On the second day out from Port au Prince, 
the wind increased to the fury of a gale, but still 
no stitch of cloth was taken from the straining 
masts and yards of the "Adams." Two stalwart 
sailors struggled with the wheel, the muscles of 
their bared and sinewy arms standing out taut, 
as toughened steel. The ship pitched and leaped 
like a thing of life. The masts sprang before 
the gale as if in their anguish they would jump 
clear out of the ship. 

With steady, hard set eyes, the skipper 



watched each movement of his ship. He knew 
her every motion as huntsman knows the action 
of his well-trained hound. His jaws were 
locked, the square, firm, Anglo-Saxon chin 
might have been modeled out of granite, so rock- 
like did it look. Away goes a sail, blown into 
fragments that wildly flap against the yard. 
Will the skipper ease her now? 

Old ' Brice looked toward the master, saw 
something in his eyes, and saw him shake his 
head — 

"Lay along here to clear up the muss, and set 
another sail !" bawled Brice, and again he looked 
toward the skipper; this time Jack nodded. 

Brave old John Dunlap scarcely ever left the 
deck. He had a sailor's heart and he had min- 
gled with those of the sea from babyhood. He 
saw the danger and going to his namesake, said, 

"Carry all she'll bear Jack. If you lose the 


ship, I'll give you ten; get me to Boston quickly, 
lad, or wreck the ship." 

"I will," was all the answer that came from 
Jack's tightly pressed lips, nor did he change his 
gaze from straight ahead while answering — yet 



the old man knew that Jack would make his 
promise good. 

He, who in the hollow of His hand doth hold 
the sea, knew of their need and favoring the ob- 
ject of such speed, did send unto that ship safety 
through the storm and favoring winds there- 

No yacht, though for speed alone designed, 
ever made such time, or ever will, or ever can, 
as made the good ship "Adams" from Port au 
Prince to Boston harbor. 

During the two weeks that succeeded the birth 
of Lucy's baby, her grandfather never left the 
house, but like some wandering spirit of unrest, 
moved silently but constantly, in slippered feet, 
from room to room, up and down the broad 
flight of stairs, and back and forth through the 
halls. . 

Maids and serving men stepped aside when 
they saw the bent and faltering figure approach- 
ing; James Dunlap had aged more within two 
weeks than during any ten years of his life be- 
fore. His kind and beaming eyes of but yester- 



day had lost all save the look of troubled age and 
weariness. The ruddy glow bequeathed by tem- 
perate youth had vanished from his countenance 
in that short time, as mist beneath the rays of the 
rising sun. The strong elastic step of seasoned 
strength had given place to the shambling gait 
of aged pantaloon. 

Burton in moody silence kept his room, or 
venturing out was seen a changed and altered 
man, with blood-shot eyes, as if from endless 
tears, and haggard, desperate face deeply traced 
by lines of trouble's trenches dug by grief. 

Mrs. Church, the physician, nurse and even 
the buxom black woman, who came to give suck 
to the babe, all, seemed awe struck, distraught, 
as if affrighted by some ghostly, awful thing 
that they had seen. 

And then, too, all seemed to hold some 
strange, mysterious secret in common, that in 
some ways was connected with the recently ar- 
rived heir to the Dunlap proud name and many 
millions. The frightened conspirators held so 
sacred the apartments blessed by the presence of 
the Dunlap heir, that none but themselves might 



enter it, or even, in loyal love for all who bear 
their old master's name, see the babe. One poor 
maid in loving, eager curiosity had ventured 
to peep into the sacred shrine and when discov- 
ered, though she had seen naught of the child, 
was quickly driven from the house and lost her 
cherished employment. 

Lucy Burton from the first hour after the birth 
of the child was very ill. For two whole days 
she hovered, hesitatingly, between life and 
death, most of the time entirely unconscious or 
when not so in a kind of stupor. But finally, 
after two days of anxious watching 1 , the physician 
and Mrs. Church noticed a change. Lucy opened 
her eyes and feebly felt beside her as if seeking 
something, and finding not what she sought, 
weakly motioned Mrs. Church to bend her head 
down that she might whisper something in her 
ear. As her old friend bent over her, she whis- 
pered softly 

"My baby, bring it." 

Mrs. Church's face became so piteous as she 
turned her appealing eyes toward the Doctor 
that, that good man arose and coming to the bed- 



side took Lucy's soft white hand in his. He had 
known her as an infant, and guessing from Mrs. 
Church's face what Lucy wished, he said, 

"Not yet, dear child, you are too ill and weak, 
and the excitement might be dangerous in your 

But Lucy would listen no longer; she shook 
her head and cried out quite audibly : 

"Bring me my baby ! I want to see it. Every 
mother wishes to see her baby." Tears came 
rolling from her sweet eyes. 

"But child, the baby boy is not well and fo 
bring him to you might cause serious conditions 
to arise." 

Well did that Doctor know the mother Heart. 
How ready that heart ever is to suffer and to 
bleed that the off-spring may be shielded from 
some danger or a single pang. 

"I can wait; don't bring my darling if it will 
do him harm. A boy! A boy! My boy! I'll 
wait, but where is Walter?" 

The Doctor told the nurse fo summon Mr. 
Burton, but cautioned Lucy not to excite or agi- 
tate herself as she had been quite ill. 



Let him who has seen the look on the con- 
demned felon's face, when the poor wretch gazes 
on the knife within the guillotine, recall that 
look. Let him who has seen the last wild, des- 
perate glance of a drowning man, recall that 
look, and mingle with these the look of Love at 
side of Hope's death-bed, and thus find the look 
on Burton's face when he entered his wife's bed- 

With arms outstretched she called to the fal- 
tering man, 

"Walter, it is a boy ! My baby ! Your baby ! 
My husband!" 

The man fell, he did not drop, upon his knees 
by the bedside and burying his face in the cover- 
ing wept bitterly. He took her hands, kissed 
them, and wet them with his tears. 

"Oh ! Don't weep so, darling. I will soon be 
well, and Oh ! my husband we have a precious 
baby boy." Then she said, as if in the joy of 
knowing that her baby was a boy, she had for- 
gotten all else, 

"Tell grandfather to come here. Tell him the 
boy shall bear his name." 



The Doctor weftt "himself to bring her grand- 
father to her. She never noticed that strange 

James Dunlap, never had you in your seventy- 
three years of life more need of strength of mind 
than now! 

Her grandfather came to her leaning heavily 
upon the Doctor's arm. He bent and kissed her 
brow, and in so doing dropped a tear upon her 
cheek. Quickly she looked up and seeing pain 
and grief in the white face above her, she started 
and in the alarmed voice of a little child, she 

"Am I going to die ? Are you all so pale and 
weep because I am dying? Tell me Doctor! 
Why Mamma Church is crying too." 

She so had called Mrs. Church when a wee 
maid and sometimes did so still. 

The Doctor seeing that she was flushed and 
greatly excited hastened to the bed-side and said 
calmly but most earnestly, 

"No, my dear. You will not die, they are not 
weeping for that reason, but you have been very 
ill and we all love you so much that we weep 



from sympathy for you, my dear. Now please 
lie down. You must my child, and all must 
leave the room but nurse and me," and speaking 
thus, he gently pressed the gold-brown head 
back on the pillows and urged all to leave the 
room immediately. 

That night the nurse and Doctor heard the pa- 
tient often murmur both while awake and while 
she slept, 

"My baby, my baby, it's a boy, my baby." 

For two or three days after this night Lucy 
was quite ill again. Her mind seemed wander- 
ing all along the path of her former life, but al- 
ways the all over-shadowing subject in all the 
wanderings of her thoughts was, "My baby," 
"My baby." Sometimes she called for Jack say- 
ing, "Come Jack, and see my baby," and then 
for her uncle, laughing in her sleep and saying 
"See, Uncle John, I've brought into the world a 
boy, my baby." 

When the fever again abated and once more 
she became conscious her first words were "My 
baby, bring it now." 

For several days the mental resources of the 



nurse, Doctor and Mrs. Church were taxed to 
their utmost in finding excuses for the absence 
of the baby. He was not well. He was asleep, 
she was not well enough and many other things 
they told her as reasons for not bringing her 
baby to her, 

But, Oh ! the piteous pleading in her voice and 
eyes, as with quivering lips and fluttering hands 
extended toward them she would beg 

"Please bring my baby to me. Everv mother 
wishes to see her baby, to press it to her breast, 
to feel its breath upon her cheek, to hold it to 
her heart ; Oh ! Please bring my darling to me." 

Poor Mrs. Church, no martyr ever suffered 
more than did that tender-hearted woman, who 
loved Lucy with a mother's heart. 

The Doctor, when he had reassured and quite- 
ed, for a little while, his patient, would leave 
the room and standing in the hall would wring 
his hands and groan, as if in mortal agony. 

One night when Lucy seemed more restful 
than usual, and was slumbering, worn out by 
emotion and watching, the Doctor, lying on a 
couch in the hall, fell fast asleep. The nurse, 




seeing all about her resting, her charge peace- 
fully and regularly, first became drowsy, nodded 
and then slept. 

The gold-brown head was raised cautiously 
from its pillows, the hazel eyes wide opened 
looked about, and seeing that the nurse was 
sleeping and that no one was looking, then two 
little white feet slipped stealthily from beneath 
the coverlet, the slim figure rose, left the bed 
and glided along the well remembered passage 
that led from her chamber to that bower of 
beauty made for her baby. As she, weak and 
trembling, stole along, she smiled and whispered 
to herself: 

"I will see my baby ! I will hold him in my 
arms, I am his own mother." 

In the room, that with loving, hopeful hands 
she had helped to decorate, the faintest flame 
gave dim, uncertain light, yet quick she reached 
the silver shell-like crib and feeling found no 
baby there. Hearing a steady, loud breathing 
of some one asleep and seeing the indistinct out- 
line of a bed in one corner of the room, she 
softly crept to its side and feeling gently with 



her soft hands found a tiny figure reposing be- 
side the snoring sleeper. To gather the baby to 
the warm breast wherein her longing, loving 
heart was beating wildly was the work of only 
an instant. 

With her babe clutched close to her, she 
opened her gown and laid its little head against 
her soft and snowy bosom, then she stole back, 
carrying her treasure to her own chamber. 

Like child that she was, women have much of 
childish feeling ever in them. In girlish happi- 
ness she closed her eyes and felt her way to the 
gas-light, and turned it up full blast, laughing 
to herself and saying as she uncovered the baby's 

"I won't peep. I'll see my baby's beauty all at 

She opened her eyes and looked! 

Now, Oh! Mother of the Lord look down! 
Oh! Christ, who hanging on His cross for the 
thief could pity feel, have pity now! 

The thing she held upon her milk white breast 
was Black — Black with hideous, misshapen 
head receding to a point; with staring, roll- 



ing eyes of white set in its inky skin; and feat- 
ures of an apish cast, increased the horror of the 

My God! That shriek! It pealed through 
chamber, dome and hall. Again, again it rang 
like scream of tortured soul in hell. It roused 
the horses in the barn, they neighed in terror, 
stamped upon the floor and struggled to be free. 
The doves in fright forsook their cot. The dogs 
began to bark. Yet high above all other sound, 
that wild, loud scream rang out. 

When the nurse sprang up she dared not move 
so wild were Lucy's eyes. The Doctor, Burton, 
her grandfather found her standing, hair un- 
bound, glaring wildly at what crying, lay on 
the floor. 

"Away, you thieves!" she screamed, and 
motioned to the door. 

"You have robbed me of my babe, and left 
that in its stead." She pointed at the object on 
the floor. 

Her grandfather pallid, tottering, moved to- 
ward her. 

"Back, old man, back! You stole my child 


Mr— an ■■! 111 ii ■wnrrTiiattMnM— n 


away," she yelled, her blazing eyes filled with 
insane rage and hate. 

"My God ! She is mad," the Doctor cried, and 
rushing forward caught her as she fell. 

"Thank God ! She has fainted ; help me place 
her on the bed." 

Burton, petrified by the awfulness of the scene 
had until that moment stood like some ghastly, 
reeling statue, now in an automatic manner he 
came forward and helped the Doctor place her 
on the bed. 

"Look to Mr. Dunlap," cried the Doctor but 
ere anyone could reach him the old man fell for- 
ward, crashing on the floor; a stroke of paralysis 
had deadened and benumbed his whole right side. 

Chapman was told next day that James Dun- 
lap was dying. Then, for the first and only time 
in the life of David Chapman, he disobeyed an 
order given by a Dunlap and sent the message 
to Haiti. 



THE pilot is mad," cried one old tar ; an- 

"The master is drunk, or there's mu- 
tiny aboard that ship." 

Thus spoke among themselves a knot of sea- 
faring men who stood on the Boston docks 
watching a ship under almost full sail, that came 
tearing before a strong northeast gale into Bos- 
ton's crowded harbor. 

i The man who held the wheel and guided the 
ship through the lanes of sail-less vessels an- 
chored in the harbor, as a skillful driver does 
his team in crowded streets, was neither mad nor 
drunk nor was there mutiny among the crew. 
The man was Jack Dunlap; the ship was the 

Jack knew the harbor, as does the dog its ken- 
nel. He held a pilot's certificate and waiving 
assistance steered his ship himself in this mad 



race with time, that no moment should be lost 
by lowering sails until the anchor dropped in 
Massachusetts sand. 

The crew was ready at the sheets and running 
gear. Each man at his station and all attention. 
Old Brice in the waist stood watching the skip- 
per ready to pass the word, to "let all go;" Mor- 
gan, the second mate, at the boat davits held the 
tackle to lower away the yawl the instant the 
ship "came round." 

The skipper at the wheel, stood steady, firm 
and sure, as though chiseled from hardest rock. 
He never shifted his blood-shot eyes from 
straight ahead. His strong, determined face, 
colorless beneath the tan, never relaxed a line 
of the intensity that stamped it with sharp an- 
gles. The skipper had not closed his eyes in 
sleep since leaving Port au Prince nor had he 
left the deck for a single hour. 

"Let go all!" the helmsman called and Brice 
repeated the order. The ship flew around, like 
a startled stag and then came, 

"Let go the anchor ! Lower away on that boat 
tackle ! Come, Cousin John, we are opposite 



Dunlap's docks. This is Boston harbor, thank 
God !" So called Jack Dunlap, springing toward 
the descending small boat that had hung at the 
davits, and dragging the no-way backward old 
gentleman, John Dunlap, along with him. 

The only moment lost in Port au Prince be- 
fore the "Adams" sailed was to arouse the oper- 
ator and send a message to Chapman saying that 
John Dunlap had left in the "Adams" and was 
on his way to Boston and his brother's bedside. 

When the red ball barred with black stream- 
ing from the masthead announced that a Dunlap 
ship was entering the port, the information was 
sent at once to the city, and an anxious, thin and 
sorrowing man gave an order to the driver of 
the fastest team in the Dunlap stables, to hasten 
to Dunlap's wharf and sprang into the carriage. 

The impatient, scrawny figure of David Chap- 
man caught the eyes of the two passengers in 
the yawl, as with lusty strokes the sailors at the 
oars urged the small boat toward the steps of the 
dock. Chapman in his excitement fairly raced 
up and down the dock waving his hands toward 
the approaching boat. 



"He still lives !" he shouted when they could 
hear him, instinctively knowing that, that ques- 
tion was first in the minds of those nearing the 

"And Lucy?" said Jack huskily, as he stepped 
on the dock and_ grasped Chapman's extended 
hand. Old John Dunlap had said never a word 
nor looked right nor left, but springing up the 
steps with extraordinary agility in one of his 
age, had run directly to the waiting carriage. 

"Alive but better dead," was all that the su- 
perintenden could find breath to say as he ran 
beside Jack toward the carriage and leaped in. 

"Stop for nothing; put the horses to a gal- 
lop," commanded Mr. Dunlap, leaning out of the 
carriage window and addressing the coachman 
as he wheeled his horses around and turned up- 
on the street. 

It was at an early hour on Sunday morning 
when the Dunlaps landed and the streets were 
freed from the week day traffic and the number 
of vehicles that usually crowded them. 

As the swaying carriage dashed along, Chap- 
man was unable to make the recently arrived 



men understand more than that Lucy had sud- 
denly become deranged as a result of her illness, 
and that this appalling circumstance, in connec- 
tion with his idolized granddaughter's severe 
sickness had produced a paralytic stroke, that 
had rendered powerless the entire right side of 
James Dunlap's body; that his vitality was so 
low and his whole constitution seemed so shaken 
and undermined by the events of the last few 
weeks, that the physicians despaired of his life. 

As the foaming horses were halted before the 
entrance of the Dunlap mansion, Mr. John Dun- 
lap jumped from the still swaying vehicle and 
ran up the steps, heedless of Mrs. Church and 
the servants in the hall, he rushed straight to 
the well remembered room where, as boys, he and 
his brother had slept, and which was still the 
bed-chamber occupied by Mr. James Dunlap. 

John Dunlap opened the door and for a mo- 
ment faltered on the threshold; then that voice 
he loved so well called out 

"Is that my brother John ?" The stricken man 
had recognized his brother's footsteps. 

An instant more and John Dunlap had thrown 



himself across the bed and his arms were around 
his brother ; for several minutes those two hearts, 
which in unison had beaten since first the life- 
blood pulsated through them, were pressed to- 
gether. James Dunlap's left hand weakly pat- 
ting his brother. 

David Chapman had followed, close upon the 
heels of John Dunlap and was crouching at the 
bottom of the bed, with his face hidden by the 
bed-clothing that covered his old master's feet, 
and was silently sobbing. When Jack Dunlap 
entered the hall good Mrs. Church, who had 
been a second mother to him while he lived at 
the Dunlap house in his school boy days, ran 
to him and throwing her arms about his neck 
fell upon |u= a broad breast, weeping and crying, 

"My boy is home ! Thank God for sending 
you, Jack. We have suffered so, and needed 
you so much, my boy 1" 

When the sailor man had succeeded in pacify- 
ing the distressed old housekeeper and disen- 
gaged himself from her embrace, he hastened 
after Chapman. As he entered the room and 
stepped near the bed he heard a feeble voice 



which he scarcely recognized 1 as that of Mr. 
James Dunlap, say, 

"It is all my fault John. You, brother, tried 
to prevent it. I alone am to blame. I have 
driven my darling mad and I believe that it will 
kill her. I did it Oh God ! I did it. Blame no 
one John; be kind, punish no one, my brother. 
I alone am at fault." 

These words came with the force of a terrible 
blow to Jack Dunlap, and halted him in mute 
and motionless wonder where he was. 

"James, don't talk that way. I can't stand it, 
brother. Whatever you have done, I know not, 
and care not, it is noble, just and right and I 
stand with you, brother, in whatsoever it may 
be," said John Dunlap in a bro^n^u*. energetic 
voice. *^^^ 

"Has no one told you then, John?" came 
faintly from the partially paralyzed lips of him 
who lay upon the bed. 

"Told me what? Brother James; but no mat- 
ter what they have to tell, you are not blamable 
as you say; I stand by that." 
Though the voice was husky, there was a chal- 


lenge in the tone that said, let no man dare at- 
tack my brother. The innate chivalry of the old 
New Englander was superior even to his sor- 

"Who is in the room beside you, John?" asked 
James Dunlap, anxious that something he had 
to say should not be heard by other than the 
trustworthy, and unable to move his head to as- 

"No one, James, but our kinsman, Jack Dun- 
lap, and faithful David Chapman," replied his 

The palsied man struggled with some pow- 
erful emotion, and by the greatest effort was 
only able to utter in a whisper the words, 

"Lucy's bafr 1 H black and impish. The negro 
blood in Burt^i caused the breeding back to a 
remote ancestor, as, John, you warned me might 
be the case. It has driven my granddaughter 
insane and will cause her death. God have 
mercy on me !" The effort and emotion was too 
much for the weak old gentleman; his head fell > 
to one side; he had fainted. 
John Dunlap started when he heard these dire- 



ful words. A look of horror on his face, but 
brotherly love stronger than all else caused him 
to put aside every thought and endeavor to re- 
suscitate the unconscious man. 

Poor Jack. He had borne manfully much 
heartache, but the dreadful thing that he had 
just heard was too much for even his iron will 
and nerves. He collapsed as if a dagger had 
pierced his heart, and would have fallen to the 
floor had he not gripped the bedstead when his 
legs gave way. 

Chapman raised his head and gazed, with eyes 
red from weeping, at him who told the calami- 
tous story of the events that had stricken him 
down. There was a dangerous glitter in the 
red eyes as Chapman sprung to John Dunlap's 
assistance in reviving the senseless man. 

When Jack recovered self-command sufficient 
to realize what was happening about him, he 
found that the physician, who had been sum- 
moned, had administered restoratives and stim- 
ulants, and that the patient had returned to con- 
sciousness; that the kind Doctor was trying to 
comfort the heartbroken brother of the sufferer 



even while obliged to admit that the end of life 
for James Dunlap was not far distant. 

"Come and get in my bed, Jack," came in a 
low and indistinct voice from the couch of the 
helpless patient. Captain Dunlap started in 
surprise, but old John Dunlap made a motion 
with his hand and said in a voice choking with 

"He always so called me when we were boys," 
and lying down by his brother he put his arms 
lovingly and protectingly around him. 

Thus the two old men lay side by side as they 
had done years before in their cradle. The si- 
lence remained for a long time unbroken, save 
for the muffled sobs that came from those who 
watched and grieved in the chamber. 

"How cold it is, Jack, come closer; Fm cold. 
I broke through the ice today and got wet but 
don't tell mother, she will worry. Jack, don't 
tell on me." The words were whispered to his 
brother by the dying man. 

"No, Jim, I'll not tell, old fellow," bravely an- 
swered John Dunlap, but a smothered sob shook 
his shoulders. He knew his brother's mind was 



straying back into the days of their boyhood. 

For what inscrutable cause does the mind of 
the most aged recur to scenes and associations 
of childhood when Death, the dread conqueror, 
draws near? Why does the most patriarchal 
prattle as though still at the mother knee in that 
last and saddest hour? Is it because mother, 
child, in purity approach nearest to that tran- 
scendent pellucidity that surrounds the throne of 
Him before whom all must appear? Does the 
nearness of the coming hour cast its shadow on 
the soul, causing it to return to the period of 
greatest innocence, and that love that is purest 
on earth? 

"Jack, hold me, I am slipping, I am going, 
going, Jack." 

Alas! James Dunlap had gone on that long, 
last journey! The noble, kindly soul had gone 
to its God. John Dunlap held in his arms the 
pulseless form of him who for seventy-three 
years had been his second self, and whom he had 
loved with a devotedness seldom seen in this sel- 
fish world of ours. 

To see a strong man weep is painful; to hear 



him sob is dreadful; but to listen and look upon 
the sorrow of a strong and aged man is heart- 
breaking and will cause sympathetic tears to 
flow from eyes of all who are not flinty-hearted. 

Chapman, when he knew the end had come, 
clasped the cold feet of his old employer and 
wept bitterly; Jack could bear no more. With 
bursting heart he fled from the room, but kept 
the chamber sacred from intrusion, and in the 
sole possession of the two old men who sorrowed 

The funeral of James Dunlap was attended by 
the foremost citizens of that section of the 
United States, where for so many years he had 
justly held a position of honor and prominence. 

The universal gloom and hush that was ob- 
servable throughout the city of Boston on the 
day that the sorrowful cortege followed all that 
remained earthly of this esteemed citizen, gave 
greater evidence of universal grief than words 
or weeping could have done. 

While James Dunlap had never held any civic 
or political position, his broad charity, unosten- 
tatious generosity, kindliness of spirit, constant 



thoughtfulness of his fellow men, and the unas- 
suming gentleness of his lovable disposition and 
character, gave him an undisputed high place in 
the hearts of his fellow citizens of both lofty 
and lowly condition. 

The chief executive of his native state, jurists, 
scholars, and capitalists gathered with rough, 
weather beaten sea-faring men, clerks and labor- 
ers to listen to the final prayer offered up, to 
Him above, at the old family vault of the Dun- 
laps beneath the sighing willow trees. 

Haggard and worn by the emotions that had 
wrenched his very soul for the past two or three 
weeks, David Chapman dragged himself to the 
tea-table where his sister waited on the evening 
of the day of the funeral ceremonies. 

With the fidelity of a faithful, loving dog he 
had held a position during all of many nights at 
the feet of him who in life had been his object 
of paramount devotion; during those days with 
unswerving faithfulness to the house of "J- Dun- 
lap," he was found leaden hued and worn, but 
still attentive, at his desk in the office. The 


rjaif «m i i n il i m i -r rr— — — ~ 


great business must not suffer, thought the man, 
even if I drop dead from exhaustion. Neither 
John Dunlap nor Walter Burton was in a condi- 
tion, nor could they force themselves, to attend 
to the business of the house no matter how urg- 
ent the need might be. 

When the business of the day ended, Chap- 
man hastened to the Dunlap mansion, and like a 
ghostly shadow glided to his position at the feet 
of his old employer, speaking to no one and no 
one saying him nay — it seemed the sad watcher's 

As David Chapman dropped into a chair at 
the tea-table, the anxious and sympathetic sister 

"Brother, you really must take some rest. In- 
deed you must, David, now that all is over." 

"Yes, Arabella, I feel utterly exhausted and 
shall rest." 

The man's condition was pitiable; his words 
came from his throat with the dry, rasping 
sound of a file working on hardest steel. 

"What a God-send Jack Dunlap is at this 
time, sister. He has taken charge of everything, 



and in that steady, confident, masterful way of 
his has brought order out of the chaos that ex- 
isted at the mansion. It may be the training and 
habits acquired at sea, but no matter what it is 
the transformation in the affairs at the house is 
wonderful. His decisive manner of directing 
everything and everybody and the correctness 
and promptness with which all people and things 
are disposed of by him is phenomenal. I thank 
Providence for the relief that Jack's coming has 

The total exhaustion of Chapman's intense 
energy was best exhibited in the satisfaction he 
felt at having some one to assist him even in the 
affairs of the Dunlaps. 

"Jack is one of the best and strongest minded 
men in the world. While I know that his heart 
is bleeding for all, especially for Lucy, he has 
maintained a self-control that is superb," said 
the spinster. 

"When he learned that Lucy's hallucination 
led her to believe that the old family physician 
had conspired to deprive her of her baby, he 
promptly procured the attendance of another 



— I. I 1.1M I HJM] I — II I , Bi l l I TM— »IH— MMM^^gJM— — — — M— 

doctor, saying positively, 'Lucy's mind must not 
be disturbed by sight of anything or person tend- 
ing to aggravate her mental disorder/ He for- 
bade Mrs. Church going into Lucy's apartments, 
dismissed the nurse and procured a new one, had 
that accursed infant put with his nurse into 
other apartments and did it all so firmly and qui- 
etly that no one dreamed of disputing any order 
given by him," said David wearily, but evidently 
much relieved with the changes made by Jack. 

"What of Lucy? How is she?" anxiously 
questioned Arabella. 

"Her mental faculties are totally disarranged. 
She has not spoken coherently since she fell 
senseless on that dreadful night and was carried 
to her bed. Besides, her physical condition is 
precarious in the extreme," replied the brother. 

"Has Jack seen her yet?" inquired the old 
maid sadly. 

"Yes, and it is very strange how rational she 
became as soon as she saw him enter the room. 
You know, Arabella, the steady, earnest, matter 
of fact manner he has. Well, he walked into her 
room with just that manner, they say he 



stopped to steady himself before going in, and 
said 'How are you, Cousin Lucy? I've come 
home to see you/ and without a quiver took her 
extended hands and pressed them to his breast. 

Lucy knew him at once when he stepped inside 
the door. She looked intently at him, then gave 
a glad, joyful cry and held out her hands, calling, 
"Jack, Oh Jack! Come to me, my champion! 
Now all will be well.' Then she put her weak, 
white arms about his neck and began to weep as 
she sobbed out, 'Jack, I have needed you. You 
said you would come from the end of the earth 
to me. I knew you would come ; Jack, they have 
stolen my angel boy, my baby. Jack, find it, 
bring it to me. I know you can. You said until 
death you would love me, Jack. Oh! find my 
baby, my darling.' " 

"Poor Lucy! Poor Jack!" broke in the old 
lady, as tears of pity ran down her withered 

"But think of the strength of the man, Ara- 
bella. You and I know what he was suffering. 
Yet he answered with never a waver in his 
voice, 'All right, little cousin, I am here and no 


r'.l.lnmi HIIIIB M i m ill M | H ill ||[T lMl»1«Hl'MIMIHUHUlW«.MHlHMIIMII»»ltHH— 


harm shall come to you. I'll help you, but you 
must be a good little girl and stay quiet and get 
well. Shall I have my mother come to sit with 
you?' She cried out at once, 'Please do, Jack, 
Cousin Martha did not steal my baby,' and then 
he insisted that she put her head back on the 
pillow and close her eyes. When she did so Jack 
had the courage to sit on the bedside and sing 
softly some old song about the sea that they had 
sung together when children. The poor girl fell 
fast asleep as he sung, but still clung to Jack's 
brown hand." 

Chapman gave a groan when he finished as if 
the harrowing scene was before him. 

"Blessings on the stout hearted boy," whim- 
pered the old lady. 

"Lucy never calls, as formerly, for her grand- 
father or husband. In fact, when Burton en- 
tered her room after that awful night she flew 
into a perfect frenzy, accusing him of stealing 
her child and putting some imp that, at some 
time, she had seen in Florida, in his place, not- 
withstanding his protestations and entreaties. 
Her mad fury increased to such a degree that 



the doctor insisted that Burton should leave the 
room, and has forbidden him to again visit his 
wife until there is a change in her mental coadi- 
tion. Of course, Lucy knows nothing of the 
death of her grandfather." The man's voice 
became choked as he uttered the last sentence. 

"Have Jack and Mr. Burton been together since 
Jack's return?" inquired Arabella, after a long 

"I think not, except once when they were clos- 
eted in the library for two hours the day after 
Jack arrived. When they came out I was in the 
hall and heard Jack say, as he left the library 
with Burton, 'I shall hold you to your promise. 
You must wait until my cousin be in a condition 
of mind to express her wishes in that matter.' 
Jack's voice was firm and emphatic and his face 
was very stern. Burton replied, 'I gave you my 
word of honor.' He seemed in great distress and 
mental anguish. My opinion is that he had pro- 
posed disappearing forever, and I think so for 
the reason that he had asked me to dispose of a 
great amount of his personal securities, and to 
bring him currency for the proceeds in bills of 



large denomination, and Jack must have object- 
ed,'' rejoined Chapman. 

"I am sorry for Mr. Burton and am glad Jack 
would not let him go away," said the kind spin- 

"Well I am not," cried Chapman savagely, 
notwithstanding his fatigue. 

1 'They would better let him go. This misfortune 
is the physical one that long ago I told you was 
possible. The next may be spiritual and result 
in some emotional or fanatic outburst of barbar- 
ous religious fervor that may again disgrace us 
all. Then may develop the bestial propensities 
of the sensual nature of savages and may result 
in crime and ruin the house of Dunlap forever." 

"David, go to bed and rest. You are worn 
out and conjure up imaginary horrors purely by 
reason of nervousness and weariness," said the 
sister soothingly. 

"You maintained months ago that the danger 
of breeding back was imaginary. What do you 
think now? The other things that I suggest as 
possible, are inherent in Burton's blood and may 
tell their story yet." 



Chapman, though weak, became vehement im- 
mediately upon the mention of this unfortunate 
subject. It required all the persuasion and di- 
plomacy of his good sister to get him to desist 
and finally to retire to his bed room for the rest 
that was so needed by the worn out man. 



YOU have been a tower of strength to 
me, Jack, in the grief and trouble of the 
last three months. I don't know what 
would have become of us all without your aid 
and comfort." 

So spoke Mr. John Dunlap. He appeared 
many years older than he did when three months 
before he arrived in Boston on board the 
"Adams." He was bent, and care worn. Deep 
sorrow had taken the fire and mirth from his 
honest, kindly eyes. 

"I am rejoiced and repaid if I have been able 
to be of service to those whom I love, and who 
have always been so kind to me," replied Jack 
Dunlap simply. 

The two men were seated in the library of the 
Dunlap mansion in the closing hour of that late 
November day, watching the heavy snow flakes 
falling without. 

"Jack, I have meditated for several days upon 



what I am about to say and can find no way but 
to beg you to make more sacrifices for us." said 
the old gentleman, after a lapse of several min- 

"The condition in which our family is demands 
the presence of some younger, stronger head and 
hand than mine is now. I know the 'Adams' is 
refitted, after her two years of service, and ready 
for sea. I know you. my lad, and your reluct- 
ance to remain idle when you think that you 
should be at work." 

"To be frank, sir. you have hit upon a subject 
about which I desired to talk with you but have 
hesitated for several days." said the young man. 
with something of relief in his tone. 

"Well then. Jack, to begin with. I wish to 
charter your ship for a voyage and to show that 
it is no subterfuge to hold you here, I say at 
once I wish you to sail in her." Mr. Dunlap 
paused for a moment to note the effect of his 
proposal and then continued. 

"Let me go over the situation, Jack, and tell 
mc if you do not agree in my conclusions. Lucy. 
while apparently restored in a degree to her for- 



mer health, is still weak and looks fragile. The 
physicians advise me to take her to a warmer 
climate before our New England Winter sets in. 
Her dementia still continues, and while she is 
perfectly gentle and harmless, she will neither 
tolerate the presence of her husband, nor poor 
Mrs. Church, and is even not pleased or quiet in 
my company. I think my likeness to my beloved 
brother affects her. She clings to your good 
mother and to you, my lad, with the confident af- 
fection of a child. When she is not softly sing- 
ing, as she rocks and smiles in a heartrending, 
far-off-way, some baby lullaby, she is flitting 
about the house like some sweet and sorrowful 
shadow. Can we, Jack, expose our girl in this 
condition to the unsympathetic gaze of stran- 
gers ?" 

"No, no, a thousand times no !" was the quick 
and emphatic answer of the younger man. 

"Now listen, Jack. Since the death of that 
poor, little misshapen black creature, which in- 
nocently brought so much trouble into our lives, 
and, Jack, your thoughtfulness in having it 
buried quietly in Bedford instead of here is 



something I shall never forget. But to return 
to Lucy: Since that object is out of the way, and 
after the consultation of those great specialists 
in mental disorder cases, I am led to hope that 
Lucy may be restored to us in all the glory of 
her former mental condition." 

"God speed the day," exclaimed Jack fervently 
and reverently. 

"The specialists affirm that as this aberration 
of mind was produced by a shock and as there 
is no inherited insanity involved in the case, that 
the restoration may occur at any moment in the 
most unexpected manner. A surprise, shock or 
some accident may instantly produce the joyful 

"It is for that very reason that I have insisted 
that Burton should remain near at hand, and 
ready to respond to a call from the restored wife 
for her husband's presence. We must bear in 
mind the fact that Lucy, before this hallucina- 
tion, was devotedly attached to her husband andl 
grandfather. With the return of her reason 
we may justly expect the return of her former 
affections and feelings," interrupted Jack by way 



of explanation of something he had done. ' 

"I know that, Jack, and approve of your 
course, but I am only a weak human creature, 
and notwithstanding the injunction of my dying 
brother to blame no one, I cannot eradicate from 
my mind a feeling of animosity toward Burton. 
I know that he is not culpable, but still I should 
be glad to have him pass out of our lives, if it 
were not for the probable effect upon Lucy if 
she ever be restored to reason. However, I was 
not displeased by his decision to return to his 
own house, the 'Eyrie/ until his presence was re- 
quired here." 

"Burton's position, sir, has been a very trying 
one. I may say a very dreadful one, and I think 
that he has acted in a very manly, courageous 
manner, sir, and I think it our duty, as Christian 
men, to put aside even our natural repugnance 
to the author of our misfortune and be lenient 
toward one who has suffered as well as our- 

The young sailor stopped, hesitated, and then 
jerked out the words 

"And to be frank and outspoken with you, sir, 



by heavens ! I am saving him for Lucy's sake ; if 
she wish him, when she know all, she shall 
have him safe and sound if it cost my life." 
There was a fierce determination in Jack's voice 
that boded no good to Burton should he attempt 
to disappear, nor to any one who attempted to 
injure the man whom Lucy's loyal sailor knight 
was safe-keeping for his hopeless love's sake. 

"Jack, I love you, lad." was all that the old 
Dunlap said, but he knew and felt the grandeur 
of the character of the man, who pressed the 
dagger down into his own heart, to save a single 
pang to the woman whom he loved so unself- 

"But to resume the recital of my plans and 
our situation," said the old gentleman settling 
back in his chair. He had leaned forward to pat 
Jack on the shoulder. 

"We agree that Lucy cannot be subjected to 
the scrutiny and criticism of strangers. I pro- 
pose, that as the physicians advise a warmer cli- 
mate, to charter the 'Adams,' have the cabin re- 
modeled to accommodate Lucy, your mother, the 
nurse and Lucy's maid, and to take them all with 



me to Haiti, just as soon as the changes in the 
accommodations on your ship can be made." 

"Burton goes with us, of course," said Jack, 

"Well, I had not determined that point. What 
do you think?" 

"Decidedly, yes! The business may suffer, 
but let it. What is business in comparison to the 
restoration of Lucy?" cried Jack in an aggres- 
sive tone of voice. 

"It shall be as you think best, my lad. The 
business will not suffer in any event, for since 
Burton's return to his position as manager, he 
has in some extraordinary manner become 
worthless in the management of the affairs of 
the house. He does not inspire the respect that 
he did formerly nor does he seem to possess the 
same self-confidence and decision of character 
that marked his manner before the events of the 
past few weeks. I don't know what I should 
have done had it not been for Chapman. He has 
taken full charge of everything and will continue 
in control while I am absent, if you decide to 
take Burton along." 



a i f i n ti ' inT f nurrnn ' j ag— — i ii h i ii ■mii i i. i m i ii .'Jumm iJBC 

"You surprise me, sir. I had noticed no alter- 
ation in Burton's manner," exclaimed Jack, sin- 
cerely astonished at what he heard. 

"That is quite likely as he seems to regard you 
with a kind of awed respect, but nevertheless 
what I state is an absolute fact. When first he 
made his appearance at the office he endeavored 
by a brave, bold front to resume his position, but 
somehow his attempt was a lamentable failure. 
He seemed to feel that everyone was aware that 
there was something sham about his assumed dig- 
nity and authority and like an urchin caught mas- 
querading in his father's coat and hat, he has dis- 
carded the borrowed garments and relapsed into 
the character that nature gave him. Burton's 
succeeding efforts to impress the office force and 
people with whom we do business with a sense 
of his importance have been absurdly laughable," 
said Mr. Dunlap. 

"The secret of the child, and all that concerns 
our family is confined to our own people, and a 
few old and faithful friends, is it not?" asked 
Jack in an anxious, troubled voice. 

"Certainly, but that apparently does not lessen 



pi— — — 

Burton's sense of being garbed in stolen apparel. 
I can notice the dignity and culture of the white 
race growing less day by day in Burton's speech 
and manner, just as frost-pictures on a window 
pane lessen each hour in the rays of the sun un- 
til naught remains but the naked and bared 

'"What will be the end of all this, if you be 
correct?" cried Jack. 

"One by one the purloined habiliments of the 
superior race will disappear until finally he will 
stand forth stripped of the acquired veneering 
created by the culture of the white race, a negro. 
This transformation, which I think time will ef- 
fect, recalls to me an example of the inordinate 
vanity and love of parading in borrowed plumage 
common to the negro race. During one of the 
numerous insurrections in Haiti I used to see one 
of the major generals of the insurgents — they 
had a dozen for every hundred privates — a big 
black fellow, strut about, puffed up with as- 
sumed importance and dignity. In less than one 
week after the insurrection was suppressed he 
was at my door selling fish. While there he be- 



gan to 'pat Juba,' as he called it, and dance, gig- 
gling with childish glee and winding up the per- 
formance by begging me for a quarter. There 
you see the negro of it. Prick the balloon and 
when the borrowed elevating gas escapes the skin 
collapses immediately," said John Dunlap, with 
the positiveness of a prophet. 

"God grant that the end be not as you surmise 
or let God in His mercy continue our Lucy in 
her present condition. It were more merciful. 
History gives the records of men of the negro 
race who did not end their lives in the manner 
you suggest, however," replied Jack, extracting 
a crumb of comfort from the last statement. 

"True! my lad, true! There have been white 
elephants and white crows; in every forest occa- 
sionally a rare bird is found. So with the negro 
race, rare exceptions to the general rule do ap- 
pear but so infrequently as to only accentuate 

the accuracy of the general rule." 

n * * * * * * 

Walter Burton was seated at a table in his 
bed-room at the "Eyrie." Before him were scat- 
tered letters, papers and writing material. It 



was late at night and he had evidently been en- 
gaged in assorting and destroying the contents 
of an iron box placed beside him on the floor. 
His elbows were on the table and his chin rested 
in both of his hands while he gazed meditatively 
at the flame in the lamp before him. 

"I am, oh ! so weary of this farce. How I long 
to be able to run away and be free/' he sighed as 
he said this to himself. After a little while he 

"The farce has been played to the final act. I 
know it. What is the use to continue upon the 
stage longer? Should Lucy's mind return to its 
normal condition she must be informed of what 
has transpired and then my happiness will ter- 
minate anyhow. Of what earthly use is it for 
me to remain here. She might call for me at 
first, but only to repulse me at last. I am toler- 
ated by old John Dunlap, hated or despised by 
the others except the noblest of them all, Jack 
Dunlap. He relies upon my word of honor. I 
must not lose his respect. I would to God I 
had given another the promise not to disappear." 

The man paused for some time in his solilo- 



quy and then broke out again by exclaiming, 

"The moment that the nurse showed the child 
to me a curtain of darkness seemed to roll back. 
I saw clearly what produced the strange spells 
that for so long have mystified me. I am a ne- 
gro. My blood and natural inclinations are those 
common to the descendants of Ham. It matters 
not that my skin is white, I am still a negro. The 
acquirement of the education, culture and refine- 
ment of the white race has made no change in 
my blood and inherent instincts. I am ever a 
negro. Like a jaded harlot I may paint my face 
with the hues of health but I am like her, a dis- 
eased imitator of the healthy. I may have every 
outward and visible sign but the inward and 
spiritual grace of the white race is not and can 
never be mine. I am a wretched sham, fraud 
and libel upon the white race with my fair skin 
and affected manner." 

The man's arms fell upon the table and he 
hid his head in them and groaned. Thus he re- 
mained for a short time, then raised his head and 
cried out, 

"I even doubt that my Christianity is genuine 



and not a hollow mockery ! The doctrine of Ma- 
homet is received more readily, and practiced 
more consistently by my native race in its ancient 
home of Africa than the pure and elevating 
teachings of Christ. The laws of Mahomet 
seem more consistent with the sensual nature of 
my race than the chaste commands of Christ. 
History relates that Islamism is able to turn an 
African negro from idolatry where the Christian 
religion utterly fails. Are my protestations of 
faith in Christianity like my refinement, culture 
and manners, merely outward manifestations in 
imitation of the white race and as deceitful as is 
the color of my skin?" 

Burton sat silent for several moments and then 
said in a tone of sad reminiscence. 

"I recall how everything in the Christian re- 
ligion or service that appealed to the emotional 
element within me aroused me, but is my nature 
as a negro, susceptible of receiving, retaining 
and appreciating permanently the truths of that 
purest and noblest of all faiths ?" Again the 
man paused as if silently struggling to solve the 
problem suggested. 



"It has of late, I know, become the fashion to 
refuse to accept the Scriptures literally, but there 
is one prophecy concerning the descendants of 
Ham which thousands of years have demonstrat- 
ed as true." 

The sculpture of that oldest of civilizations, 
the mother of all culture, the Egyptian, proves 
beyond a doubt that the children of Ham came 
in contact with the source of Greek and Roman 
culture yet they advanced not one step. The 
profiles of some even of the early Pharoahs as 
seen on their tombs furnish unmistakable proof 
of that contact in the Negroid type of the fea- 
tures of Egypt's rulers." 

"The Romans carried civilization to every 
people whom they conquered and to those who 
escaped the Roman domination they bequeathed 
an impetus that urged them forward, with the 
single exception of the accursed Hamites." 

"The Arabs occupied Northern Africa and kept 
burning the torch of civilization in the chaos of 
the Dark Ages in Europe. The Arabs frater- 
nized more freely with the sons of Ham than all 
other branches of the human race, but failed to 



push, pull or drive them along the highway of 

"The negro race seems bound by that old 
Scriptural prophecy concerning the descendants 
of Ham. It does not advance beyond being the 
hewers of wood and drawers of water for the 
balance of mankind, notwithstanding five thous- 
and years of opportunity and inducement." 

"The negro race in Africa, its ancestral land, 
can point to no ruined temples, no not even 
mounds like can the American Indians. It bor- 
rowed not even the art of laying stones from 
Egypt. It has no written language though the 
Phoenicians gave that blessing to the world. It 
has no religion worthy of the name, neither laws 
nor well defined language. Notwithstanding its 
association with Egyptian, Roman and Arabian 
culture and civilization, fountains for all of the 
thirsty white race, the negro race has benefited 
not at all. It is where it was five thousand 
years ago. God's will be done!" 

Burton paused while a sneer came to his lips 
when he began again speaking. 

"Haiti, after decades of freedom, starting with 



the benefits conferred by the religion and civili- 
zation of one of the leading nations of earth, is 
the home today of ignorance,, slothfulhess and 
superstition. Every improvement made by the 
former white rulers neglected and passing away. 
In the hands of the white race it had now been 
a Paradise. Liberia is as dead, stagnant and 
torpid as if progress had vanished with the fos- 
tering care of the white nations that founded 
that republic." 

The young man ceased in recapitulating the 
failures of his race, but added with a sigh, 

"In America! Well one may grow oranges 
in New England by covering the trees with glass 
and heating the conservatory, but break the glass 
or let the fire expire and the orange trees die. 
Break the civilization of the white race in Amer- 
ica like the glass, let the fire of its culture be- 
come extinguished and alas for the exotic race 
and its artificial progress." 

"But enough of my race," exclaimed Burton 
impatiently as he arose from the table and began 
walking about the room. 

"Formerly I tried to curb an inclination that 



was incomprehensible. Now that I know the 
cause I rather enjoy the relapses into my natural 
self. I welcome the casting aside of the mask 
and affectation of the unreal. It is a relief. The 
restraint imposed by the presence of those who 
know me for what I am, is irksome. I long all 
day for the freedom of my isolation here in the 
'Eyrie' where no prying eye is finely discriminat- 
ing the real from the sham. I loath the office 
and the association there. Each day I seem to 
drop a link of the chain that binds me to an arti- 
ficial existence." 

Suddenly an idea seemed to present some new 
phase to the soliloquizing man. He put his hand 
to his head as if in pain, and cried out, 

"But the end! What shall it be?" 



IT was good of you Jack, to Have Mr. 
Dunlap invite me to dine with him this 
evening. I am deucedly weary of the 
'off colored/ " exclaimed Lieutenant Tom Maxon 
as he and his companion, Captain Jack Dunlap 
walked in the twilight through the outskirts of 
Port au Prince. 

"To tell you the truth, Tom, I was not think- 
ing of your pleasure in the visit half so much as 
I was about my old kinsman's. You see we have 
been here a month, and as my Cousin Lucy is 
an invalid and sees no company, Mr. Dunlap has 
divided his great rambling house into two parts. 
He and Burton occupy one part and the women 
folk the other; I join them as often as possible 
but as Burton is exceedingly popular with the 
dusky Haitians and often absent, my old cousin 
is apt to be lonely. I thought your habitual jolli- 
ness would do him good, and at the same time 


secure you a fine dinner, excellent wine and the 
best cigars in Haiti; hence the invitation." 

"How is Mrs. Burton? I remember her from 
the days when you, the little Princess and I used 
to make 'Rome howl' in the Dunlap attic." 

"Lucy is much improved by the sea voyage 
and change of climate, but must have absolute 
quiet. For that reason my mother keeps up an 
establishment in one part of the house to insure 
against noise, or intrusion," said Jack. 

"I hope that you didn't promise much jollity 
on my part this evening, old chum, for the 
thought of our little Princess being an invalid 
and under the same roof knocks all the laugh 
and joke out of even a mirthful idiot like Tom 
Maxon," said the lieutenant. 

"It's sailing rather close to tears, I confess, 
Tom, but I do wish you to cheer the old gentle- 
man up some if you can," replied Jack as they 
strolled along the highway between dense masses 
of tropical foliage. 

"I say, Jack, is Mr. Dunlap's place much fur- 
ther? I don't half like its location," said Maxon 
as he looked about him and noticed the absence 



of houses and the thick underbrush. 

"Why? What's the matter with it? Are you 
leg weary already, you sea-swab?" cried Dunlap 

"Not a bit; but I'll tell you something that 
may be a little imprudent in a naval officer, but 
still I think you ought to know. The American 
Consul fears some trouble from the blacks on 
account of the concessions that Dictator Dupree 
was forced to grant the whites before the Eng- 
lish and American bankers would make the loan 
that Mr. Dunlap negotiated. The rumor is that 
the ignorant blacks from the mountains blame 
your kinsman and mutter threats against him. 
When Admiral Snave received the order at Gib- 
raltar to call at Port au Prince on our way home 
with the flag-ship Delaware and one cruiser, we 
all suspected something was up, and after we 
arrived and the old fighting-cock placed guards 
at the American Consulate we felt sure of it," 
replied Lieutenant Tom seriously. 

"Oh! pshaw, these black fellows are always 
muttering and threatening but it ends at that," 
said Jack with a contemptuous gesture. 



" 'Luff round,' shipmate," suddenly called 
Tom Maxon grabbing hold of Jack's arm and 
pointing through a break in the jungle that lined 
the roadway. 

"Isn't that a queer combination over there by 
that dead tree?" continued the officer directing 
Jack's gaze to a cleared spot on the edge of the 

In the dim light could be distinguished the 
figure of a well-dressed man, who was not black, 
in earnest conversation with a bent old hag of a 
black woman who rested her hand familiarly and 
affectionately upon his arm. Dunlap started 
when he first glanced at them. The figure and 
dress of the man was strangely similar to that 
of Walter Burton. 

"Some go-between in a dusky love affair 
doubtless," said Jack shortly as he moved on. 

"Well, I think I could select a better looking 
Cupid," exclaimed Tom laughing at the sug- 
gestion of the old witch playing the part of love's 

"By the way, Jack, speaking of Cupid, I re- 
ceived a peculiar communication at Gibraltar, 



It was only a clipping from some society paper 
ibut this was what it said: 'Mr. T. DeMontmor- 
ency Jones has sailed in his magnificent yacht 
the "Bessie" for the Mediterranean, where he 
will spend the winter, En J>assant } rumor says 
the engagement between Mr. Jones and one of 
Boston's most popular belles has been termina- 
ted/ This same spindle shanked popinjay of a 
millionaire was sailing in the wake of my inam- 
orata and was said to have cut me out of the race 
after my Trafalgar. So, when I tell you, old 
chap, that the writing on the envelope looks 
suspiciously like the chirography of Miss Eliza- 
beth Winthrop, you can guess why I can sing 
There's a sweetheart over the sea* 
'And she's awaiting there for me.' " 

The light-hearted lieutenant aroused the birds 
from their roosts by the gusto of his boisterous 
baritone in his improvised song. He stopped 
short and said abruptly 

"Jack, why the deuce didn't you fall in love 
with the little Princess and marry her yourself?" 

"Hold hard, Tom. My cousin Lucy is the 
object of too much serious concern to us all to 



'be made the subject of jest just now, even by 
you, comrade, and what you ask is infernal non- 
sense anyhow," replied Jack, somewhat confused 
and with more heat than seemed justifiable. 

"Oh ! I beg your pardon, Jack. You know that 
I'm such a thoughtless fool, I didn't think how 
the question might sound," said Tom quickly, in 

Captain Dunlap made no mistake in promising 
the lieutenant of the U. S. N. a good dinner, rare 
wine and fine cigars. John Dunlap in the desert 
of Sahara would have surrounded himself, some- 
how, with all the accessories necessary to an ideal 

Good-natured Tom Maxon exercised himself 
to the utmost in cheering the old gentleman and 
dispelling any loneliness or gloom that he might 
feel. Tom told amusing anecdotes of the iras- 
cible admiral, recounted odd experiences and 
funny incidents in his term of service among the 
Philippinoes and Chinese ; he sang queer parodies 
on popular ballads, and rollicking, jolly sea songs 
until the old gentleman, temporarily forgetting 
his care and grief, was laughing like a school- 



When they were seated, feet upon the railing, 
a la Americaine, on the broad 1 piazza, listening to 
the songs of the tropical night birds, as they 
smoked their cigars, the lieutenant recalled the' 
subject of the location of Mr. Dunlap's house, by 

"I mentioned to Jack, while on my way here, 
sir, that it seemed to me that you would be safer 
nearer the American Consulate in case anv 
trouble should arise concerning the concessions 
to the whites made by Dupree." 

"Oh! I don't think that there is any occasion 
for alarm. To bluff and bluster is part of the 
negro nature. The whole talk is inspired by the 
agitation caused by the Voo Doo priests and 
priestesses among the superstitious blacks from 
the mountains. By the way, Jack, our old friend 
the witch who wished to sail in your ship with 
us when we left for Boston, still haunts my prem- 
ises." As if to corroborate what the speaker had 
just said, a wailing chant arose on the tranquil 
night air, coming from just beyond the wall 
around the garden, 

"Oh ! Tu Konk, my Tu Konk" 
"Send back the black blood." 



"There she is now," exclaimed Jack and Mr. 
Dunlap at the same time. 

"My black boy who waits at the table told me 
that the old crone was holding meetings nightly 
in worship of Voo Doo, 'and that too in the very 
suburbs of the city," said Mr. Dunlap when the 
sound of old Sybella's voice died away in the 

"Where is Burton tonight?" asked Jack as if 
recalling something. 

"I don't know. When he does not appear at 
the established dinner hour I take it for granted 
that he is at the club in the city or dining with 
some of his newly made friends. He is quite 
popular here, being a Haitian himself," replied 
the old gentleman 

s}t if: J}c ^s sf; $z ^j 

It was late that night when Walter Burton en- 
tered the apartments reserved for his exclusive 
use in the house of John Dunlap. Throwing 
off his coat he sat down in a great easy chair in 
the moonlight by the open window and lighted a 

"I wish that I were free to fly to the mountains 



and 'hide myself here in Haiti among my own 
people forever," sighed the young man glancing 
away off to the shadowy outline of the hills 
against the moonlit sky. 

"The sensation of being pitied is humiliating 
and hateful, and that was what I endured during 
the voyage from Boston, and have suffered ever 
since I arrived and have 'been in enforced asso- 
ciation with the Dunlaps. The devoted love for 
Lucy, my wife, is a source of pain, not pleasure. 
Her unreasoning antipathy now is more bearable 
than will surely be the repulsion that must arise 
if, when restored to reason, she learn that I am 
the author of the cause of her disappointment, 
horror and dementia. Woe is mine under any 
circumstances! The evil consequences of at- 
tempted amalgamation of the negro and white 
races are not borne alone by the white partici- 
pants but fall as heavily upon those of the negro 
blood who share in the abortive effort." 

Burton seemed to ruminate for a long while, 
smoking in silence, then he muttered, 

"Am I much happier when with my own race? 
Hardly! When I am in the society of even the 



most highly culivated Haitian negroes I am un- 
able to free myself from the thought that we are 
much like a lot of monkeys, such as Italian street 
musicians carry with them. We negroes are 
togged out in the dignity, education and culture 
of the white race, but we are only aping the nat- 
ural, self-evolved civilization and culture of the 
whites. The clothing does not fit us, the gar- 
ments were not cut according to our mental and 
moral measurements, and we appear ridiculous 
when we don the borrowed trappings of the white 
race's mind, and pompously strut before an 
amused and jeering world." 

"When I imagined the mantle that I wore was 
my own it set lightly and comfortably on me. 
Now that I realize that it is the property of an- 
other, it has become cumbersome, unwieldy, awk- 
ward and is slipping rapidly from my shoulders." 

"On the other side of the subject are equal 
difficulties. If, weary of imitation and affecta- 
tion, I seek the society of my race in all its natural 
purity and ignorance, my senses have become so 
acute, softened and made tender by the long use 
of my borrowed mantle that I am shocked, horri- 



fied or disgusted. Oh! Son of Ham, escape 
from the doom pronounced against you while 
yet time was new seems impossible. In My Book 
it is writ, saith fhe Lord !" 

In melancholy musing the man tortured by so 
many contrary emotions and feelings, sat silently 
gazing at the distant stars and then cried out in 
anguish of spirit, 

"Oh! that I should be forced to feel that the 
Creator of all this grand universe is unjust! 
That I should regard education and culture as a 
curse to those foredoomed to be hewers of wood 
and drawers of water. That I should realize 
that refinement is a cankerous limb, a clog and 
hindrance to a negro, unfitting him for associa- 
tion with his own race and yet impotent to change 
those innate characteristics inherited by him from 
his ancestors, that disqualify him from homoge- 
neousness with the white race." 

The young man's voice was full of despair and 
even something of reproach as his subtle intellect 
wove the meshes of the adamantine condition 
that bound him helpless, in agony, to the rack of 
race inferiority. 



"Mother Sybella, who has proven herself my 
great-grandmother, urges me to fly and seek 
among my own people that surcease from suffer- 
ing unattainable among the whites. While she 
fascinates me, she fills me with horror. I am 
drawn toward her yet I am repelled by something 
loathsome in the association with her. She seems 
to possess hypnotic power over my senses ; she 
leads me by some magnetic influence that exerts 
control over the negro portion of my nature." 

"I am ashamed to be seen by the white people, 
especially the Dunlaps, in familiar conversation 
with the grandmother of my mocher, but in our 
secret and frequent interviews she has told me 
much that I was unaware of concerning my an- 
cestors and my mother. I have promised to at- 
tend a meeting of my kinsmen tomorrow night, 
which will be held in a secluded spot near the 
city, whither she herself will guide me. I do not 
wish to go. I did not wish to make the promise 
and appointment to meet her, but was compelled 
by the overmastering power she wields over the 
natural proclivities within me. I must meet her 
and go with her." 



The struggle in the dual nature of the man be- 
tween the contending forces of the innate and 
the acquired was obvious in the reluctant tone 
in which, while he admitted that he would obey 
the innate, he lamented the abandonment of the 

"I must go, I feel that I must! My destiny 
was written ere Shem, Ham and Japhet sepa- 
rated to people the world. I bow to the inevi- 
table! I am pledged to Dupree for dinner to- 
morrow evening, but I shall excuse myself early, 
and keep my appointment with Mother Sybella, 
and accompany her to the meeting of my kin- 



THE cleared spot selected by Mother 
Sybella as the scene of her mystic 
ceremonies and the gathering place 
of the worshipers of Voo Doo, though 
scarcely beyond the outskirts of the city, 
was so screened by the umbrageous growth of 
tropical forest, interlaced with vanilla and grape- 
vines that festoon every woodland of Haiti, that 
its presence was not even suspected save by the 

On the night that Dictator Dupree entertained, 
among other guests the wealthy Haitian, Walter 
Burton, partner in the great American house of 
"J. Dunlap," and husband of the heiress to the 
millions accumulated by the long line of "J. Dun- 
flaps" which had controlled the Halitian trade 
with the United States, a strange and uncanny 
drama was enacted almost within sound of the 
music that enlivened the Dictator's banquet. 

Through trees entwined by gigantic vines, re- 



semlbling monstrous writhing serpents, glided 
silently many dark forms carrying blazing 
torches of resinous wood to guide the flitting fig- 
ures through the intricacies of the hardly defin- 
able pathways that ran in serpentine indistinct- 
ness toward the clear spot, where Mother Sybella 
had set up the altar of Tu Konk, and was calling 
her children to worship by the booming of an 
immense red drum upon which she beat at short 

In the center of the clearing, coiled upon the 
stump of a large tree, was a huge black snake, 
that occasionally reared its head and, waving it 
from side to side, emitted a fearful hissing sound 
as it shot forth its scarlet, flame-like tongue. 

Torches and bon-fires illuminated the spot and 
cast gleams of light upon the dark faces and dis- 
tended, white and rolling eyes of the men and 
women who, squatting in a circle back in the 
shade of the underbrush, chanted a monotonous 
dirge-like invocation to the Voo Doo divinity 
called by them Tu Konk, and supposed to dwell 
in the loathsome body of the serpent on the 



By almost imperceptible degrees the blows up- 
on the drum increased in frequency; old Sybella 
seemed some tireless fiend incarnate as gradually 
she animated the multitude and quickened the 
growing excitement of her emotional lijteners 
<by the ceaseless booming of her improved tom- 
tom. Soon the forest began to resound with 
hollow bellowing of conch shells carried by many 
of the squatters about the circle. The chant be- 
came quicker. Shouting took the place of the 
droning monotonous incantations to Tu Konk. 

Higher and higher grew the gale of excite- 
ment. The shouting grew in volume and intens- 
ity. Wild whoops mingled with the more sonor- 
ous shouts that made the forest reverberate. 

Suddenly the half-clad figure of a man sprang 
into the circle of light that girded the stump 
whereon the now irritated snake was hissing con- 
tinuously. The man was bare to the waist and 
without covering on his legs and feet below the 
knees; his eyes glared about him, the revolving 
white balls in their ebony colored setting was 
something terrifying to behold. The man uttered 
whoop after whoop and began shuffling sideways 



around the stump, every moment adding to the 
rapidity and violence of his motions until shortly 
he was madly bounding into the air and with 
savage shouts tearing at the wool on his head, 
while white foam flecked his bare black breast. 

The man's madness became contagious. Fig- 
ure after figure sprang within the lighted space 
about the serpent. Men, women, and even chil- 
dren all more or less nude, the few garments worn 
presenting a 'heterogeneal kaleidoscope of vivid, 
garish colors as the frenzied dancers whirled 
about in the irregular light of the torches and 

Soon spouting streams of red stained the glis- 
tening black bodies, and joined the tide of white 
foam pouring from the protruding, gaping, blub- 
ber lips of the howling, frantic worshipers. 

The fanatic followers of Voo Dooism were 
wounding themselves in the delirium of irrespon- 
sible emotion. Blood gushed from long gashes 
made by sharp knives on cheeks, breasts, backs 
and limbs. The gyrations of the gory, crazed 
and howling mass were hideous to behold. 

When the tempest of curbless frenzy seemed 



to have readied a point beyond which increase 
appeared impossible, old Sybella rushed forward, 
like the wraith of the ancient witch of En-dor, 
dashing the dancers aside, springing to the stump 
she seized the snake and winding its shining 
coils about her she waved aloft the long, glitter- 
ing blade of the knife that she held in hand, and 
shrieked out, in the voice of an infuriated fiend, 

"Bring forth the hornless goat. Let Tu Konk 
taste the blood of the 'hornless one!" 

A crowd of perfectly naked and bleeding men 
darted forward bearing in their midst an entirely 
nude girl, who in a perfect paroxysm of terror 
fought, writhed and struggled fearfully, yelling 
wildly all the time, in the grip of her merciless 
and insensate captors. 

The men stretched the screaming wretch across 
the stump on Which the snake had rested, pressed 
back the agonized girl's head until her slender 
neck was drawn taut. Quick as the serpent's 
darting tongue, Sybella's bright, sharp blade de- 
scended, severing at one stroke the head almost 
from the quivering body. 

A fiercer, wilder cry arose from tlie insane de- 



votees as a great tub nearly full of fiery native 
rum was placed to catch the gushing stream that 
flowed in a crimson torrent from the still twitch- 
ing body of the sacrifice to Voo Doo. 

Sybella stirred the horrible mixture of blood 
and rum with a ladle, made of an infant's skull 
affixed to a shin-bone of an adult human being, 
and having replaced the snake upon his throne, 
on the stump, in an abject posture presented to 
the serpent the ladle filled with the nauseating 
stuff. The re-incarnate Tu Konk thrust his head 
repeatedly into the skull-bowl and scattered drops 
of the scarlet liquid over his black and s'hining 

Then Sybella using the skull-ladle began filling 
enormous dippers made of gourds, that the eager, 
maddened crowd about the Voo Doo altar held 
expectantly forth, craving a portion in the liba- 
tion to Tu Konk. 

The maniacal host gorged themselves with the 
loathsome fluid, gulped down in frenzied haste, 
great draughts of that devilish brew, from the 
large calabashes that Sybella filled. 

Now hell itself broke forth. No longer were 



the worshipers men and women. The lid was 
lifted from hell's deepest, most fiendish caldron. 
A crew of damned demons was spewed out upon 
earth. With demoniac screams that rent the 
calmness of the night, they beat and gashed them- 
selves, their slabbering, thick lips slapping to- 
gether as they gibbered, like insane monkeys, 
sending flying showers of foam over their bare 
and bleeding bodies. Human imps of hell's cre- 
ation fell senseless to the ground or writhing in 
hideous, inhuman convulsions twined their dis- 
torted limbs about the furious dancers who 
stamped upon their hellish faces and brought 
the dancers shrieking to the earth. 

In the midst of this pandemonium, redolent 
with the odor of inferno, a dark figure, that, 
crouched in the deep shade of the clustering palm 
plants, and covered with a dark mantle, had re- 
mained unnoticed a spectatoriof the scene, sprang 
up, hurled to one side the concealing cloak and 
bounded toward the stump whereon the serpent 
hissed defiance at his adorers. 

With an unearthly yell, half-groan, half-moan, 
but all insane, frantic and wild, the neophyte 



leaped about in erratic gyrations of adoration be- 
fore the snake, that embodiment of Tu Konk, the 
Voo Doo divinity. 

As whirling and, in an ecstacy of emotion, 
waving aloft his hands the howling dancer turned 
and the light of the bonfire fell upon his face, the 
brutalized features of Walter Burton were re- 

Those refined, aesthetic features that had made 
the man "the observed of all observers" at Miss 
'Stanhope's musicale in Boston, had scarcely been 
recognized as the same in the strangely flattened 
nose, the thickened lips, the popped and rolling 
eyes of the man who, in the forest glade of Haiti 
danced before the Voo Doo god Tu Konk the 

Burton's evening dress was torn and disar- 
ranged, his hair disheveled, his immaculate linen 
spotted with blood, his shoes broken and muddy, 
his face contorted and agonized, as twisting and 
squirming in every limb he sprang and leaped in 
a fiercely violent dance before the snake. Yells 
of long pent-up savage fury rang through the 
dank night air, as Burton threw back his head 

and whooped in barbarous license. 


Sybella's flashing eyes gleamed with joy as she 
gazed at this reclaimed scion of the negro race. 
She stole toward the flying figure that spun 
around, transported to the acme of insane emo- 
tion, singing in triumphant screeches as she crept 

"Tu Konk, the Great one" 

"Tu Konk, I thank thee" 

"Back comes black blood" 

"No longer childless" 

"Tu Konk, I praise thee." 

sk ?Jc sk sk «te ste 3k 3k 

Mr. Dunlap was aroused at daylight by a mes- 
senger wearing the naval uniform of the United 
States, who waited below with an important com- 
munication from Lieutenant Maxon. 

Two hours before Mr. Dunlap heard the rap 
on 'his bedroom door, a pale and trembling figure, 
clothed in a dilapidated evening suit, had slunk 
stealthily past his chamber and entered the apart- 
ments occupied by the husband of the Dunlap 

"Dear Mr. Dunlap.— I am instructed by Ad- 
miral Snave to inform you that an uprising of 



the blacks is imminent ; that it will be impossible 
to protect you in your exposed position should 
such an event take place. The admiral suggests 
that you remove your family at once to the Amer- 
ican Consulate, where protection will be fur- 
nished all Americans. Very respectfully, 

Thomas Maxon, 
Lieut. U. S. N." 

"P. S. — Please adopt the Admiral's suggestion. 
I think you had better let Jack know about this. 

T. M." 

Such were the contents of the letter of which 
the U. S. marine was bearer and it was answered 
as follows: 

"Dear Mr. Maxon. — Express my gratitude to 
Admiral Snave for the suggestion, but be good 
enough to add that the health of my niece de- 
mands absolute quiet and that I shall remain here 
instead of going to the crowded Consulate; that 
I deem any disturbance as exceedingly improb- 
able from my intimate acquaintance with the 
character of the natives of this island. 
Very respectfully, 

J. Dunlap. 



P. S. — Will notify Jack to bring a man or two 
from his ship to guard premises for a night or 

In the evening, as the shadows of night fell 
upon the house of Mr. John Dunlap and the owls 
began to flutter from their roosts and hoot, Mr. 
Brice, first officer, and McLeod, the big, bony 
carpenter of the "Adams" were seated on the 
steps of the piazza in quiet contentment, puffing 
the good cigars furnished by Mr. Dunlap after, 
what seemed to them, a sumptuous banquet. 

"I declare, Jack, were it not that the conse- 
quences might be serious, I should rather enjoy 
seeing long-limbed Brice and that wild, red- 
haired Scotchman of yours, led by you, charging 
an angry mob of blacks, armed with those anti- 
quated cutlasses that your fellows brought from 
the ship. The blacks would surely run in poire 
fright at the supposed resurrection of the ancient 
buccaneers. No scene in a comic opera could 
compare with what you and your men would 
present/' said Mr. Dunlap in an amused tone, as 
he rocked back and forth in an easy chair on the 
veranda, and chatted with his namesake, Jack. 



— — — murnrannTiTiraiiMgCTOT 

"It might be amusing to you, sir," replied Jack 
laughing, "but it would be death to any black 
who came within the swing of either of the cut- 
lasses carried by Brice and McLeod. I picked 
up a half dozen of those old swords at a sale in 
Manila, and decorated my cabin with them. 
When I told the men that there might be a fight 
they could find no other weapons on board ship 
so denuded my cabin of its decorations and 
brought them along. Of course I have a revol- 
ver but in a rush those old cutlasses could do 
fearful execution. They are heavy and as sharp 
as razors." 

"While I am unwilling to take even a remote 
risk with Lucy and your mother in the house, still 
in my opinion there is not one chance in a million 
that anything but bluff and bluster will come of 
this muttering. Admiral Snave is always anxious 
for a fight, and the wish is father of the thought 
in this alarm," said the old gentleman. 

"Why isn't Burton here?" asked Jack almost 

"He is up stairs. He has been feeling ill all 
day and asked not to be disturbed unless he be 



needed. I shall let him rest. However, he has 
a revolver and is an excellent shot and will prove 
a valuable aid to us should the fools attempt to 
molest the premises." 

For an hour or two Brice and McLeod ex- 
changed an occasional word or two but gradually 
these brief speeches became less frequent and 
finally ceased altogether. Mr. Dunlap and Jack 
carried on a desultory conversation for some 
time, but had sat in silent communion with their 
own thoughts for possibly an hour when, under 
the somnific influence of the night songsters, the 
Scotch ship-carpenter yawned, rose to his feet 
and stretched his long, hairy arms. He paused 
in the act and thrust forward his head to catch 
some indistinct sound, then growled, 

"I hear murmuring like surf on a lee-shore." 

Brice arose and listened for a minute then 
called out, 

"Captain, I hear the sound of bare feet patter- 
ing on the highway." 

Jack was on his feet in an instant and ran down 
the" walk to the gate in the high brick wall that 
surrounded the premises. He came running back 



almost immediately and said in low voice as he 
reached the piazza. 

"There is a mob coming toward the house, 
along the road leading from the mountains. They 
carry torches and may mean mischief. Cousin 
John, will you have Burton called and will you 
please remain here to look after the women. Brice 
you and McLeod get cutlasses and bring me one 
also. We will meet the mob at the gate." 

"Oh ! It is nothing Jack, maybe a negro frolic. 
No use arousing Burton," said the elder Dunlap. 

"If you please, sir, do as I ask. I will be pre- 
pared in any event/' said Jack Dunlap tersely. 

"All right, Commander, the laugh will be at 
your expense," cried the amused old gentleman 
as he ordered a servant to call Burton. 

Jack and his two stalwart supporters had barely 
reached the gate when the advance guard of the 
savage horde of black mountaineers appeared 
before it. Instantly it flashed upon the mind of 
the skipper that if he barred the gate, that then 
part of the mob might go around and break over 
the wall in the rear of the house and attack the 
defenceless women. 



"Throw open the gate, McLeod, we will meet 
them here," commanded Captain Dunlap, and 
turning as some one touched his shoulder, he 
found Burton at his side, very pale and but half 
clad, with a revolver in his hand. 

"Glad you are here, Burton." 

"I did not have time to put on my shoes." said 

The main body of the mob now came up and 
gathered about the open gate. The men were 
armed with clubs and knives and some few, who 
were evidently woodsmen, carried axes. Many 
torches shed their light over the black and brutal 
faces, making them appear more ebony by the 
white and angry eyes that glared at the men who 
stood ready to do battle just within the gate- way. 

"I wish you people to understand that if you 
attempt to enter this gate many of you will be 

Young Dunlap spoke in a quiet voice, as he 
stood between the pillars of the gate, but there 
was such an unmistakable menace in the steady 
tone that even the ignorant barbarians understood 
what he meant. 



For the space of a minute of time the mob hes- 
itated. Suddenly a tall woodsman struck a 
sweeping, chopping blow with his ax. The skip- 
per sprang aside just in time, and as quick as a 
flash of lightning a stream of flame poured out 
of the pistol he held in his hand, and that woods- 
man would never chop wood again. 

Brice and McLeod had cast aside their coats, 
and with their long, sinewy arms bared to the 
elbows, cutlasses grasped in their strong hands, 
they were by Jack's side in a second. 

As the pistol shot rang out it seemed to give 
the signal for an assault. With a howl, like 
wild and enraged animals, the mob rushed upon 
the men at the gate. The rush was met by the 
rapid discharge of the revolvers held by Dunlap 
and Burton ; for a moment it was checked, then a 
shrill voice was heard screaming high above the 
'howling of the savages, 

"Kill the white cow ! She has stolen our son 
from us ! Kill the Yankee robbers ! Spare my 
black goat!" 

Sybella could be heard though concealed by the 
tall black men of the mountains who again hurled 



themselves on the white men who guarded the 

The revolvers were empty. Jack sent his fly- 
ing into a black face as he gripped the hilt of his 
cutlass and joined old Brice and the carpenter in 
the deadly reaping they were doing. Burton 
having no other weapon than the revolver, threw 
it aside and seized a club that had dropped from 
the hands of one of the slain blacks. 

The sweep of tho;e old cutlasses in the power- 
ful hands that held them was awful, magnificent ; 
no matter what may have been the history of 
those old blades they had never been wielded as 
now. But numbers began to tell and the infur- 
iated negroes fought like fiends, urged on by 
the old siren Sybella who shrieked out a kind of 
battle song of the blacks. 

How long the four held back the hundreds 
none can tell, but it seemed an age to the fast 
wearying men who held the gate. A blow from 
an ax split McLeod's head and he fell dead with- 
out even a groan. Brice turned as he heard his 
shipmate fall and received a stunning smash on 
the temple from a club that felled him like an 
ox in the shambles. 



Jack saw Burton, who was fighting furiously, 
beset 'by two savage blacks armed with axes 
stuck on long poles. In that supreme moment of 
peril the thought of Lucy's sorrow at loss of her 
husband, should she be restored to reason, came 
to the mind of the great hearted sailor. He reck- 
lessly rushed in front of Burton, severed at a 
stroke of his sword the arm of one of Burton's 
assailants, and caught the descending ax of the 
other when within an inch of the head of the man 
who had taken the place in Lucy's love that he 
had hoped for. 

Jack Dunlap's cutlass warded off the blow from 
Burton but the sharp ax glanced along the blade 
and was buried in the broad breast of Lucy's 
knight, and he fell across the bodies of his faith- 
ful followers, Brice and McLeod; Jack's fast 
deafening ears caught sound of — 

"Follow me, lads, give them cold steel. Don't 
s'hoot. You may hit friends ! Charge !" 

Tom Maxon's voice was far from jolly now. 
There was death in every note of it as, at the 
head of a body of United States Blue- jackets, he 
dashed in among the black barbarians. When 

he caught sight of the prostrate, bleeding form 


of his old school-fellow he raged like a wounded 
lion among Sybella's savage followers. 

As the lieutenant saw that the range of fire 
was free from his friends, he cried out, hoarse 
with passion, 

"Fire at will. Give them hell !" and he emptied 
his own revolver into the huddled crowd of moun- 
taineers, who still stood, brave to recklessness, 
hesitating about what to do against the new ad- 

The repeating rifles of the Americans soon 
covered the roadway with dark corpses. Long 
lanes were cut by the rapid fire through the 
'black mass. With howls and yells of mingled 
terror, rage and disappointment the mob broke 
and taking to the jungle disappeared in the dark- 
ness of the adjacent forest. 

A sailor kicked aside what he thought was a 
'bundle of rags, and started back as the torch that 

he 'bore revealed the open, fangless mouth and 
snake-like, glaring eyes of an old crone of a 
woman who in death seemed even more horrible 
than in life. 

A rifle ball, at close range, had shattered 
Mother Sybella's skull. 



ALL established rules of the house of "J. 
Dunlap" were as the laws of the Medes 
and Persians to David Chapman, invio- 
lable. When the hour of twelve struck and 
neither Mr. John Dunlap nor Mr. Burton ap- 
peared at "the office, the Superintendent immedi- 
ately proceeded to the residence of Mr. Dunlap. 

"I am sorry, Chapman, to have given you the 
trouble of coming out here, but the fact is I am 
not so strong as formerly, and I expected that 
Burton would be at the office and thought a day 
of repose might benefit me," remarked Mr. John 
Dunlap as Chapman entered his library carrying 
a bundle of papers this March afternoon. 

"Mr. Burton has only been at the office once 
within the past week and not more than a dozen 
times since you all returned from Haiti some two 
imonfths ago," replied the Superintendent, me- 
thodically arranging the various memoranda on 
the large library table. 


feE recklessly rushed in front of Burton." 

Page 286 


"First in order of date is as follows : Douglass 
and McPherson, the solicitors at Glasgow, write 
that they have purchased the annuity for old Mrs. 
McLeod and that the income secured to her is 
far larger than any possible comfort or even lux- 
ury can require ; they also say that the lot in the 
graveyard has been secured and that the mother 
of the dead ship carpenter is filled with gratitude 
for the granite stone you have provided to mark 
her son's grave and that no nobler epitaph for 
any Scotsman could be carved than the one sug- 
gested by you to be cut on the stone, 'Died de- 
fending innocent women;' they expect the body 
to arrive within a few days and will follow in- 
structions concerning the reinterment of the re- 
mains of gallant McLeod ; they add that beyond 
all expenditures ordered they will hold a balance 
to our credit and ask what is your pleasure con- 
cerning same, that the four thousand pounds 
remitted by you was far too large a sum." 

"Far too small ! Tell them to buy a cottage 
for McLeod's mother and draw at sight for more 
money, that the cottage may be a good one. 
Why! Chapman, McLeod was a hero; but they 



were all of them that. He, however, gave his 
life in our defense and there is no money value 
that can repay that debt to him and his," ex- 
claimed Mr. Dunlap earnestly, and leaning for- 
ward in the excitement that the recollection of 
the past recalled, continued: 

"David, the dead were heaped about the spot 
where McLeod, Brice and Jack fell like corded 
fire-wood. When I could leave the women, 
Lieutenant Maxon and his men had dispersed 
the blacks, I fairly waded in blood to reach 
the place where Maxon and Burcon were bend- 
ing over Jack. It was a fearful sight. It had 
been an awful struggle, but it was all awful that 
nigfat. I dared not leave the women, yet I knew 
that even my weak help was needed at the gate. 
Had my messenger not met Maxon on the road, 
to whom notice of the intended attack had been 
given by a friendly black, we had all been killed." 

The excited old gentleman paused to regain his 
breath and resumed the story of that dreadful 

"Martha Dunlap is the kind of woman to be 
mother of a hero. She was as calm and brave 



as her son and helped me like a real heroine in 
keeping the others quiet. We told Lucy it was 
only a jubilee among the natives and that they 
were shouting and shooting off firearms in their 
sport along the highway. God forgive me for the 
falsehood, but it served to keep our poor girl per- 
fectly calm and she does not even now know to 
the contrary." Mr. Dunlap reverently inclined 
his head when he spoke of that most excusable 
lie that he had told. 

"Jack does not get all of his nerve and courage 
from the Dunlap blood, that is sure ! When the 
surgeon was examining the great gash in his 
breast, Martha stood at his side and held the 
basin ; her hand never trembled though her tear- 
less face was as white as snow. All the others 
of us, I fear, were blubbering like babies, I know, 
anyhow Tom Maxon was whimpering more like 
a lass than the brave and terrible fighter that he 
is. When the surgeon gave us the joyful news 
that the blow of the ax had been stopped by the 
strong breast bone over our boy's brave heart, 
we were all ready to shout with gladness, but 
Martha then, woman like, broke down and began 



There was rather a suspicious moisture in the 
eyes of the relator of the scene, as he thought 
over the occurrences of that night in Haiti. Even 
though all danger was past and his beloved name- 
sake, Jack Dunlap, was now so far recovered as 
to be able to walk about, true somewhat paler 
in complexion and with one arm bound across 
his breast, but entirely beyond danger from the 
blow of the desperate Haitian axman. 

"That fighting devil of an American admiral 
soon cleared Port au Prince of the insurgents 
and wished me to take up my residence at the 
•consulate, but I had enough of Haiti, for awhile 
anyway. So as soon as Jack could safely be 
moved, and old Brice, whose skull must be made 
of iron, had come around sufficiently after that 
smashing blow in the head, to take command of 
the 'Adams' and navigate her to Boston, I bun- 
dled everybody belonging to me aboard and 
sailed for home." The word home came with a 
sigh of relief from Mr. Dunlap's lips as be set- 
tled back in his chair. 

"When we heard xjf your frightful experience, 
I had some faint hope that the shock might have 


restored Mrs. Burton to her normal condition 
of mind," said Chapman. 

"Well, in the first place Lucy learned nothing 
concerning the affair, and was simply told when 
she called for Jack that he was not well and 
would be absent from her for a short time. But 
even had she received a nervous shock from the 
harrowing events of that night, the experts in 
mental disorders inform me that it is most un- 
likely that any good result could have been pro- 
duced ; that as the primary cause of her dementia 
is disappointed hope, expectation, and the recoil 
of the purest and best outpouring of her heart, 
that the only shock at all probable to bring about 
the desired change must come from a similar 
source," answered Mr. Dunlap. 

"To proceed with my report," said the Super- 
intendent glancing over some papers. 

"Lieutenant Maxon is not wealthy, in fact, has 
only his pay from the United States, and while 
his family is one of the oldest and most highly 
respected in Massachusetts all the members of it 
are far from rich. The watch ordered made in 
New York will be finished by the time the U. S. 



Ship Delaware arrives, which will not be 'before 
next month." 

"That all being as you have ascertained, I am 
going to make a requisition upon your ingenuity, 
David. You must secure the placing in Maxon's 
hands of twenty one-thousand dollar bills with 
no other explanation than that it is from 'an ad- 
mirer.' The handsome, gay fellow may think 
some doting old dowager sent it to him. The 
watch I will present as a slight token of my 
friendship when I have him here to dine with 
me, and he can never suspect me in the money 
matter." Mr. Dunlap chuckled at the deep cun- 
ning of the diabolical scheme. 

Chapman evidently was accustomed to the un- 
stinted munificence of the house of Dunlap, for 
he accepted the instruction quite as a mere detail 
of the business, made a few notes and with his 
pen held between his teeth as he folded the paper, 
mumbled : 

"111 see that he gets the money all right, sir, 
without knowing where it comes from." 

"Here are several things that Mr. Burton, who 
is familiar with the preceding transactions, 



should pass upon, but as he is so seldom at the 
office, I have had no opportunity to lay them be- 
fore him," continued the ever vigilant Chapman, 
turning over a number of documents. 

"I know even less than you do about Burton's 
department, so make out the best way that you 
can under the circumstances." 

"Is Mr. Burton ill, sir, or what is the reason 
why he is absent from the office so much ?" asked 
Chapman, to whom it seemed that the greatest 
deprivation in life must be loss of ability to be 
present daily in the office of J. Dunlap. 

"I am utterly at a loss to explain Burton's con- 
duct, especially since our return from Haiti. He 
is morbid, melancholy, and seems to avoid the 
society of all those who formerly were his chosen 
associates and companions. He calls or sends 
•here daily with religious regularity to ascertain 
the condition of Lucy's health, and occasionally 
asks Jack to accompany him on a ride behind 
his fine team. You know that he is aware that 
Jack saved his life by taking the blow on his own 
breast that was aimed at Burton's head. He 
was devoted to Jack on the voyage home and 



here, until Jack's recovery was assured beyond a 
doubt, but now he acts so peculiarly that I don't 
know what to make of him," replied the per- 
plexed old gentleman. 

"Humph! Humph!" grunted Chapman, in a 
disparaging tone, and resumed the examination 
of the sheets of paper before him. Selecting one, 
he said: 

"I find Malloy, the father of the girl, who was 
the victim of that nameless crime and afterward 
murdered, to be a respectable, worthy man, poor, 
but in need of no assistance. He is a porter at 
Brown Brothers. It appears that the girl, who 
was only fifteen years of age, was one of the 
nursery maids in the Greenleaf family, and had 
obtained permission to visit her father's home on 
the night of the crime and was on her way there 
when she was assaulted." 

"What has been done by the Police Depart- 
ment?" asked Mr. Dunlap eagerly. 

"To tell the truth, very little. The detectives 
seem mystified by a crime of so rare occurrence 
in our section that it has shocked the whole of 
New England. However, I know what would 



have happened had the crowd assembled around 
Malloy's house when the body was brought home, 
been able to lay hands on the perpetrator of the 
deed, the whole police force of Boston notwith- 

"What do you mean, David?" 

"I mean that the wretch would have been 
lynched," exclaimed Chapman. 

"That had been a disgrace to the Common- 
wealth of Massachusetts," said the old gentleman 

"That may or may not be, sir. Malloy and 
his friends are all peaceable, law-abiding citizens. 
Malloy was almost a maniac, not at the death 
of his child but the rest of the crime, and the 
agony of the heart-broken father was too much 
for the human nature of his neighbors, and hu- 
man nature is the same in New England as else- 
where in our land " 

"But the law will punish crime and must be 
respected no matter what may be the provocation 
to ignore its regular administration of justice," 
said Mr. Dunlap with a judicial air. 

"Truth is, sir, that one can hardly comprehend 



a father's feelings under such circumstances, and 
I don't imagine there is a great difference be- 
tween the paternal heart in Massachusetts and in 
Mississippi. Human nature is much alike in the 
same race in every clime. Men of the North 
may occasionally be slower to wrath but are fear- 
fully in earnest when aroused by an outrage," 
rejoined Chapman. 

"I frankly confess, David, that I recognize that 
it is one thing for me to sit here calmly in my 
library and coolly discuss a crime in which I have 
no direct personal interest, and announce that 
justice according to written law only should be 
administered, but it would be quite a different 
state of mind with which I should regard this 
crime if one of my own family were the victim 
of the brute's attack. I fear then I should forget 
about my calm theory of allowing the regular 
execution of justice and everything else, even my 
age and hoary head, and be foremost in seeking 

quick revenge on the wretch," said the old New 
Englander hotly. 

"Knowing you and your family as I do, sir, 
I'll make oath that you would head the mob of 



"My brother James, who was the soul of honor 
and a citizen of whom the Commonwealth was 
justly proud, was very liberal in his opinion of 
lynching for this crime. It was the single crim- 
inal act for which his noble, charitable heart 
could find no excuse. I think even my brother 
James, model citizen though he was, would have 
been a law-forgetting man under such circum- 
stances. ,, 

Old John Dunlap's voice grew soft and tender 
when he mentioned the name of his beloved 
brother, and either Chapman became extraordi- 
narily near-sighted or the papers in his hand re- 
quired close scrutiny. 

"I have published the notice of the reward of 
one thousand dollars offered by our house for the 
capture of the perpetrator of the crime," said the 
Superintendent rather huskily, changing the sub- 
ject from that of the character of his old master. 

"That is well, we are the oldest business house 
in Boston, and none can think it presumptuous 
that we should be anxious to erase this stain 
from the escutcheon of our Commonwealth. I 
wish every inducement offered that may lead to 



the apprehension of the criminal." Mr. Dunlap 
stopped short as if suddenly some new idea 
had occurred to his mind, and then exclaimed: 

"David, you possess a wonderful faculty for 
fathoming deep and complex mysteries. Why 
don't you seek to discover the perpetrator of this 
horrible crime?" 

David Chapman was not in the habit of blush- 
ing, but certainly his cheeks took on an unusually 
bright crimson hue, as Mr. Dunlap asked the 
question, and he answered in a somewhat 
abashed manner, as though detected in some act 
of youthful folly. 

"I confess, sir, that I am making a little inves- 
tigation in my own way. There are a few 
trifling circumstances and fragments of evidence 
left by the criminal that were considered un- 
worthy of attention by the police that I am trac- 
ing up, like an amateur Sherlock Holmes." 

"Good for you, David! May you succeed in 
unearthing the brutal villain! You have carte- 
hlanche to draw on the house for any expense 
that your search may entail. Go ahead ! I will 
stand by you!" cried John Dunlap enthusiasti- 



THE abysmal depth of degradation has 
now been reached; I no longer, even 
in my moments of affected refinement, 
attempt to conceal the fact from myself, the 
gauzy veil of acquisition no longer deceives even 
me, it long since failed to deceive others." 

What evil genii of metamorphosis had trans- 
formed the debonair Walter Burton into the 
wretched, slovenly, brutalized being who, grunt- 
ing, gave utterance to such sentiments, while 
stretched, in unkempt abandonment, on a dis- 
ordered couch in the center of the unswept and 
neglected music-room in the 'Eyrie' early on this 
March morning? 

Even the linen of the once fastidious model of 
masculine cleanliness was soiled, and the delights 
of the bath seemed quite unknown to the heavy- 
eyed, listless lounger on the couch. 

"I have abandoned useless effort to rehabilitate 



myself in the misfit garments of a civilization 
and culture for which the configuration of my 
mental structure, by nature, renders me unsuited. 
My child indicated the off-springs natural to me. 
My emotion and actions in the forest of Haiti 
gave evidence of the degree of the pure spirit of 
religion to be found in my inmost soul, and my 
conduct, following natural inclinations, since my 
return to Boston, has demonstrated how little 
control civilization, morality, or pity have over 
my inherent savage nature." 

The man seemed in a peculiar way to derive 
some satisfaction from, rehearsing the story of 
his hopeless condition, and in the fact that he had 
reached the limit of descent. 

"I should have fled to the mountains of Haiti, 
had I not been led to fight against my own kins- 
men. For the moment I was blinded by the 
thread-bare thought that I was of the white in- 
stead of black race, and when I had time to free 
my mind from that old misleading idea, my hands 
were stained with the blood of my own race. I 
was obliged to leave Haiti or suffer the fate that 
ever overtakes a traitor to his race." 


caraanaa nirMii » —— ■ mi n n ■■■!— ^amnu ■- mg'. -sl-aw«» 


"There is no hope of the restoration of my 
wife's mental faculties, and even should there be 
that is all the more reason for my fleeing from 
Boston and forever disappearing, I retain enough 
of the borrowed refinement of the whites in my 
recollection to know that as* I am now I should be 
loathesome to her." 

"Here, I must shun the sight of those who 
'know me, realizing that I can no longer appear 
in the assumed character that I formerly did. 
Here, I skulk the streets at night in the apparel 
of a tramp seeking gratification of proclivities 
that are natural to me." 

"I know that I must leave this city and country 
as quickly as possible. The long repressed de- 
sires natural to me break forth with a fury that 
renders me oblivious to consequences and my own 
safety. Repression by civilization and culture 
foreign to a race but serves to increase the vio- 
lence of the outburst when the barrier once is 

"I will go to the office today, secure some pri- 
vate documents and notify Mr. Dunlap that I 
•desire to withdraw at once from the firm of J. 



Dunlap. I will nerve myself for one more act 
in the farce. I will don the costume in which I 
paraded the stage so long for one more occa- 

Burton arose slowly from his recumbent posi- 
tion as if reluctant to resume even for a day a 
character that had become tiresome and obnox- 
ious to his negro nature. 

itf ^tf *$r *V *V *S* v** 

*J* +$+ <f* ^* Jfi 5Ji ^[» 

David Chapman had on several occasions made 
suggestions to the head of the Police Department 
in Boston that had resulted in the detection and 
apprehension of elusive criminals. Unlike many 
professional detectives, Chief O'Brien welcomed 
the aid of amateurs and listened respectfully to 
theories, sometimes ridiculous, but occasionally 
suggestive of the correct solution of an appar- 
ently incomprehensible crime. 

The deductive method of solving the problem 
of a mysterious crime employed by Chapman was 
not alone interesting to the Chief of Detectives, 
but appeared wonderful in the correctness of the 
conclusions obtained. He therefore gave eager 
attention to what Chapman communicated to him 



while seated in the Chief's private office on the 
•evening of the day that Burton visited the office 
of J. Dunlap to secure his private correspond- 
ence and documents. 

"In the first place, Chief, as soon as I learned 
the details of this Malloy crime, I decided that 
the perpetrator of it was of the negro race," said 
Chapman, methodically arranging a number of 
slips of paper on the Chief's desk, at which he 
sat confronting O'Brien on the opposite side. 

"How did you arrive at that decision?" said 
the detective. 

"Well, as you are aware, for you laughed at 
me often enough when you ran across me with 
my black associates, I 'slummed' among the 
negroes for months to gain some knowledge of 
the negro nature " 

"Yes, I know that and often wondered at your 
persistent prosecution of such a disagreeable un- 
dertaking," said O'Brien. 

"I learned in that investigation that beneath 
the surface of careless, thoughtless gaiety and 
good nature there lies a tremendous amount of 
cruelty and brutal savagery in the negro nature ; 



that dire results have been caused by a miscon- 
ception of the negro character on this point to 
those associated with them ; that while sensual 
satiety produces lassitude in other races, in the 
negro race it engenders a lust for blood that al- 
most invariably results in the murder of the vic- 
tim of a brutal attack. I checked the correctness 
of my conclusions by an examination of all ob- 
tainable records and completely verified the accu- 
racy of my deduction.'* 

"That had not occurred to me before," said the 
Chief frankly ; "now that you mention it, I think 
from the record of that crime, as it recurs to me 
at this moment, that your statement is true." 

"The next step was to look for the particular 
individual of the negro race who could fit in with 
the trifling evidence in your possession, which 
you so readily submitted to me. From the mold 
taken by your men of the criminal's foot-prints it 
is evident that his feet were small and clad in 
expensive shoes. In the shape of the imprints I 
find corroboration of my premise that the author 
of the crime was of the negro race. The frag- 
ment of finger nail embedded in the girl's throat, 



under a microscope reveals the fact that., while 
the nail was not free from dirt, it had recently 
been under the manipulation of a manicure and 
was not of thick, coarse grain like a manual 
laborer's nails,'' said the amateur detective glanc- 
ing at his notes. 

'"'Yes, I agree in all that, Mr. Chapman. Go 
ahead; what follows?'' remarked O'Brien. 

"We have then a negro, but one not engaged 
in the usual employment of the negro residents 
in Boston, to look for ; next you found clutched 
in the fingers of the dead girl two threads of 
brownish color and coarse material, together with 
a fragment of paper like a part of an envelope 
on which was written a few notes of music." 

"Yes, and I defy the devil to make anything 
result from such infinitesimal particles of evi- 
dence," exclaimed the professional detective. 

"Well, I'm not the devil." said Chapman, 
quietly proceeding to recapitulate the process 
adopted by him. 

"From the few notes — you know that I am 
something of a musician — I began, poco a poco, 
as they say in music, to reconstruct the tune of 



which the few notes were a part. As I proceeded, 
going over the notes time and again on my violon- 
cello, I became convinced that I had heard that 
wild tune before, and am now able to say where 
and when." 

"Wonderful, perfectly wonderful if you can, 
Chapman," cried the thoroughly interested Chief. 

"What next?" O'Brien asked, impatient at the 
calmness of the man on the opposite side of the 

"To-day I saw the finger that the fragment of 
nail found in the girl's neck would fit, and one 
finger-nail had been broken and was gone," con- 
tinued Chapman, by great effort restraining the 
evidence of the exultation that he felt. 

"Where, man, where? And whose was the 
hand?" gasped O'Brien. 

"Wait a moment! Upon reflection I realized 
that the only part of a man's apparel likely to give 
way in a desperate struggle would be a coat 
pocket ; that the hand of the girl had grasped the 
edge of the pocket and in so doing had closed 
upon an old envelope in the pocket, which was 
torn and remained in her hand with a couple of 



threads from the cloth of the coat when the mur- 
derer finally wrenched the coat out of her life- 
less fingers." 

"Quite likely/' exclaimed the Chief impa- 

"But hurry along, man," urged the officer. 

"This afternoon I examined under the most 
powerful microscope procurable in Boston the 
threads that your assistant has in safe keeping. I 
recognized the color and material of which those 
threads are made. I know the coat whence the 
threads came, and the owner of the coat," de- 
clared Chapman emphatically. 

"His name," almost yelled the astonished de- 

"David Chapman," was the cool and triumph- 
ant reply. 

The Chief glared at the exultant amateur with 
wonder, in which a doubt of the man's sanity 
was mingled. 

"It is the coat of the suit I wore while 'slum- 
ming' in my investigations concerning the negro 
race. It has hung in my private closet in the 
office until some time within the last two months, 



when it was abstracted by some one having keys 
to the private offices of J. Dunlap. Mr. Dunlap, 
Walter Burton and I alone possess such keys. 
Burton, like me, is tall and slim, the suit will fit 
him ; Burton is of the negro race ; I heard Burton 
play the tune of which the few notes are part 
when I went to his house on the only occasion 
that I ever visited the 'Eyrie;' Burtor-'s shoes — 
I tried an old one to-day which was left at the 
office some months ago — exactly fit the tracks 
left by the murderer. Burton having no suit 
that he could wear as a disguise while rambling 
the streets in search of adventure, found and ap- 
propriated my old 'slumming' suit. You will find 
that suit, blood-stained, the coat pocket torn, now 
hidden somewhere in the 'Eyrie' if it be not de- 
stroyed. Walter Burton is guilty of the Malloy 
assault and murder !" Chapman had risen from 
his chair, his face was aflame with vindictiveness 
and passion, his small eyes blazing with satisfied 
hatred as he almost yelled, in his excitement, the 
denunciation of Burton. 

"Great God ! man, it can't be," gasped the Chief 
of Detectives, saying as he regained his breath, 



"Burton and the Dunlaps are not people to 
make mistakes with in such a horrible case as 

"Burton has withdrawn from our firm. He 
has provided himself with a large sum of cur- 
rency. He is leaving the country. Tomorrow 
night he dines with Mr. Dunlap to complete the 
arrangements for the severance of his relations 
with the house of J. Dunlap. Captain Jack Dun- 
lap will dine with Mr. Dunlap on that occasion, 
and I shall be there to draw up any papers re- 
quired. The coast will be clear at the 'Eyrie;' 
go there upon the pretext of arresting Victor, 
Burton's valet, on the charge of larceny; search 
thoroughly the premises; if you find the gar- 
ments, and the coat is in the condition I describe, 
come at once to the Dunlap mansion and arrest 
the murderer, or it will be too late, the bird will 
have flown." The veins in Chapman's brow and 
neck were fairly bursting through the skin, so 
intense were the passion and vehemence of the 
man who, straining forward, shouted out direc- 
tions to the detective. 

O'Brien sat for several minutes in silence, bur- 



ied in deep meditation, glancing ever and anon 
at Chapman, who, chafing with impatience, fairly 
danced before the desk.. The official arose and, 
walking to the window, stood for some time gaz- 
ing out upon the lighted street below. Suddenly 
he turned and came back to Chapman, whom he 
held by the lapel of the coat, while he said, 

"Chapman, I know that you hate Burton. I 
know also of your fidelity to the Dunlaps. You 
would never- have told this to me, even as much 
as you hate Burton, if it were not true. This dis- 
closure and disgrace, if it be as you suspect, will 
wound those dear to you." 

This phase of the situation had evidently not 
occurred to David Chapman in his zeal for satis- 
faction to his all-consuming hatred of Burton. 
He dropped his eyes, nervously clasped and un- 
clasped his hands, while his face paled as he 
faltered out, 

"Well — maybe you had best not act upon my 
suggestions ; I may be all wrong." 

"There, Mr. Chapman, is where I can't agree 
with you. I am a sworn officer of this common- 
wealth, and, by heavens ! I would arrest the 



governor of the state if I knew it to be my duty. 
Not all the money of the Dunlaps or in the whole 
of Massachusetts could prevent me from laying 
my hand on Walter Burton and placing him un- 
der arrest for the murder of the Malloy girl, if 
I find the clothing you mention in the condition 
you describe. I shall wait to make the search at 
the 'Eyrie' until tomorrow night, that if there be 
a mistake it shall not be an irreparable one," said 
the conscientious Chief of Detectives sternly, in 
a determined tone of voice. 

"But I may be mistaken," urged the agitated 
amateur detective. 

"You have convinced me that there are grounds 
for your statements; I know them now, and, 
knowing them, by my oath of office, must take 
action," quietly replied O'Brien. 

"Then promise to keep my connection with the 
case a secret, except what may be required of me 
■as a witness subpoenaed to appear and testify," 
cried the now remorseful Chapman. 

"That I will, and readily too, as it is but a 
small favor in comparison to the great aid you 
have been to our department, and is not in con- 



flict with my duty. I shall also collect and hand 
over to you all of the reward." 

"Never mind the reward ; keep it for your pen- 
sion fund," replied the regretful Superintendent 
of J. Dunlap, who had played detective once too 
often and too well for his own peace of mind. 

3 X 4 


NEVER had there assembled beneath the 
roof of the Dunlap mansion since the 
old house was constructed, a company 
so entirely uncomfortable as that around the table 
in the library on the night that Walter Burton 
dined for the last time with Mr. Dunlap. 

John Dunlap's mind was filled with doubts 
concerning what was his duty with regard to 
Burton, having due consideration for the memory 
of his deceased brother, and as to what would 
have been the wish of that beloved brother under 
existing circumstances. Recognizing, as John 
Dunlap did, the influence that his personal antip- 
athy for Burton had upon his conduct, he was 
nervous and uncomfortable. 

Burton felt the restraint imposed upon him irk- 
some, even for the time of this brief and 1 final 
visit to the home where his best emotions had 
been aroused, and the purest delights of his arti- 



ficial existence enjoyed. He was anxious to be 
gone, to be free, to forget, and was impatient of 

Jack Dunlap, pale and somewhat thin, still 
carrying his arm bound to his breast, felt the 
weight of the responsibility resting upon him in 
releasing Lucy's husband from a promise that 
for months had held him near her should the 
husband's presence be required at any moment, 
and was correspondingly silent and meditative. 

Nervous, expectant and fearful, David Chap- 
man sat only half attentive to what was said or 
done around him. His ears were strained to 
catch the first sound that announced the coming 
of the visitors which he now dreaded. 

"The terms of the settlement of my interest in 
your house, Mr. Dunlap, are entirely too liberal 
to me, and I only accept them because of my 
anxiety to be freed from the cares of business at 
the earliest possible moment, and am unwilling 
to await the report of examining accountants," 
said Walter Burton as he glanced over the paper 
submitted to him by Chapman. 

"Do you expect to leave the city at once?" 



asked Mr. Dunlap in a hesitating, doubtful voice. 

"Yes, I will make a tour through the Southern 
States, probably go to California and may return 
and take a trip to Europe. I have promised Cap- 
tain Dunlap to keep your house informed of my 
movements and address at all times, and shall 
immediately respond, by promptly returning, if 
my presence in Boston be called for," replied 

"I confess, Burton, that my mind is not free 
from doubt as to the propriety of allowing you 
to withdraw from our house. I should like to 
act as my brother James would have done. His 
wishes are as binding upon me now as when he 
lived/' said Mr. Dunlap in a low and troubled 

"It is needless to rehearse the painful story of 
the last few months, Mr. Dunlap. Had your 
•brother lived he must have perceived the total 
vanity of some of his most cherished wishes re- 
garding the union of his granddaughter and my- 
self. Heirs to his name and estate must be im- 
possible from that union under the unalterable 
conditions. My wife's dementia and her irra- 



tional aversion to my presence would have influ- 
enced him as it does you and me, and — I might 
as well say it — I am aware of the fact and realize 
the naturalness of the sentiment. I am persona 
non grata here." 

There was a tinge of bitterness in the closing 
sentence and Burton accompanied it with a de- 
fiant manner that evinced much concealed resent- 

As Burton ceased speaking, the eyes of the 
four men sitting at the table turned to the door, 
hearing it open. The footman who had opened 
it had hardly crossed the threshold when he was 
pushed aside by the firm hand of Chief of De- 
tectives O'Brien, who, in full uniform, followed 
by a man in citizens' dress carrying a bundle un- 
der his arm, entered the room. 

Mr. Dunlap hurriedly arose and advancing 
with outstretched hand exclaimed, 

"Why! Chief, this is an unexpected pleas- 
ure^ — " 

"Mr. Dunlap, stop a moment." There was a 
look in the official's eyes that froze Mr. Dunlap's 
welcome on his lips and nailed him to the spot on 


which he stood. Chapman glanced at Burton, 
on whom O'Brien's gaze was fastened. Burton 
had risen and stood trembling like an aspen leaf 
without a single shade of color left in cheeks or 
lips. Jack Dunlap's face flushed somewhat in- 
dignantly as he rose and walked forward to the 
side of his kinsman. 

"With all due regard for that high respect I 
entertain for you, Mr. Dunlap, it has become my 
painful duty to enter your house tonight in my 
official capacity and arrest one accused of the most 
serious crime known to the law." While O'Brien 
was speaking he moved toward the table, never 
removing his eyes from Burton. 

"What do you mean, sir?" cried Jack in a 
wrathful voice, interposing himself between 
O'Brien and the table. 

"Stand aside, Captain Dunlap !" said the Chief 
sternly. Quickly stepping to Burton's side and 
placing his hand on his shoulder he said, 

"Walter Burton, I arrest you in trie name of 
the Commonwealth, on the charge of murder." 

With a movement too quick even for a glance 
to catch, the Chief jerked Burton's hands togeth- 



er and 1 snapped a pair of handcuffs on the wrists 
of the rapidly collapsing man. 

The eyes of all present were fixed, in stupified 
amazement, on O'Brien and Burton, and had not 
seen what stood in the open doorway until a low 
moan caused Jack to turn his head. He saw 
then the figure of Lucy slowly sinking to the 

Lucy in her wanderings about the house was 
passing through the hall when the uniformed 
officer entered. Attracted by the unusual spec- 
tacle of a man in a blue coat ornamented with 
•brass buttons, she had followed the policeman 
and overheard all that he had said, and seen 
what he had done. 

"I will furnish bail in any amount, O'Brien," 
exclaimed Mr. Dunlap, staying the two officers 
by stepping before them as they almost carried 
Burton, unable to walk, from the room. 

"Please stand aside, Mr. Dunlap," said the 
Chief kindly. 

"Don't make it harder than it is now for me 
to do my duty," and gently pushing the old gen- 
tleman aside, O'Brien and his assistant bore Bur- 



ton from the library and the Dunlap mansion. 

"Help me, quick! Lucy has fainted!" called 
Jack, who, crippled as he was, could not raise 
the unconscious wife of Burton. 

When Mr. Dunlap reached Jack's bending fig- 
ure, Lucy opened her eyes, gazed about wildly 
for an instant, gasped for breath as if suffocat- 
ing, and suddenly sprang unassisted to her feet, 
as if shot upward by some hidden mechanism. 

"Walter! My husband! Where is he? Where 
is grandfather? What has happened)?" she cried 
out, in a confused way, as one just aroused from 
a sound sleep. 

Jack and Mr. Dunlap stared at her for a mo- 
ment in wonderment ; then something in her eyes 
gave them the gladsome tidings, in this their 
'hour of greatest trouble, that reason had resumed 
its sway over loved Lucy's mind ; she was restored 
to sanity. The shock had been to her heart and 
'restored her senses, as a similar shock had de- 
prived her of them. The experts had predicted 

"Walter is in trouble, danger. I heard that 

policeman say murder ! Save my husband, Jack ! 

Uncle John! Where is my grandfather?" 



Jack finally gathered enough of his scattered 
composure to reply somehow to the excited young 
woman. He said all that he dared say so soon 
after the return of reason to her distracted head. 
"Be calm, Cousin Lucy ! Your grandfather is 
absent from the city. You have been ill. Your 
Uncle John and I will do all in our power to aid 
Walter if he be in danger." 

She turned her eyes toward her Uncle John 
and regarded him steadily for the space of a min- 
ute, and then she whirled about and faced Jack, 
crying out in clear and ringing tones, 

"I will not trust Uncle John. He dislikes 
Walter and always has, but you ! you, Jack Dun- 
lap, I trust next to my God and my good grand- 
father. Will you promise to aid Walter ?" 

"I promise, Lucy. Now be calm," said Jack 

There was no madness now in Lucy's bright, 
gleaming, hazel eyes ; womanly anxiety as a wife 
was superb in its earnestness. She was grand, 
sublime as with the majestic grace of a queen 
of tragedy she swept close to her cousin, then 
raising herself to her greatest height, with her 


hand extended upward, pointing to heaven, she 
commanded as a sovereign might have done. 

"Swear to me, Jack Dunlap, by God above us 
and your sacred honor, that you will stop at 
nothing in the effort to save my husband. 

"I swear," said the sailor simply as he raised 
his hand. 

The woman's manner, speech, and the scene 
did not seem strange to those who stood about 
her. She was suddenly aroused to reason to find 
the object of her tenderest love in direst danger; 
her stay, prop and reliance, her grandfather, un- 
accountably absent. In that trying stress of cir- 
cumstances, the intensity of the feeling within 
her wrought-up soul found expression in exces- 
sive demand's and exaggerated attitudes. 

"Now go! my Jack; hurry after Walter and 
help him," she urged as with nervous hands she 
pushed him toward the door. 

Next morning, when the newspapers made the 
startling announcement that a member of the 
firm of J. Dunlap, Boston's oldest and wealthiest 
business house, had been arrested on the charge 



of that nameless crime and the murder of the 
Malloy girl, the entire city was stunned by the 

A crowd quickly gathered around the city jail. 
Threatful mutterings were heard as the multi- 
tude increased in numbers about the prison. When 
Malloy came and his neighbors clustered about 
the infuriated father of the outraged victim, that 
slow and slumbering wrath that lies beneath the 
calm, deceptive surface of the New England 
character began to make itself evident. "Tear 
down the gates!" "Lynch the fiend," and such 
expressions were heard among the men, momen- 
tarily growing louder, as the cool exterior of the 
Northern nature gave away. 

Soon many seafaring men were seen moving 
among the most excited of the mob, saying as 
they passed from one group to another, "It's not 
true! You know the Dunlaps too well !" "Keep 
quiet, it's a lie !" "Dunlap offered a reward for 
the arrest of the villain ; it can't be as the papers 

One sailor-man, who carried a crippled arm, 
mounted a box and made a speech, telling the 



people there must be a mistake and begging them 
to be quiet. When he said that his name was 
Dunlap, the seafaring men began to cheer for 
"Skipper Jack," and the mob joined in. Seeing 
one of the Dunlap name so calm, honest and 
brave in their very midst, the mob began to 
doubt, and shaking their heads the people moved 
gradually away and dispersed, persuaded that 
naught connected with the worthy Dunlap name 
could cause such foul wrong and disgrace to the 
Commonwealth of Massachusetts. 

The best legal talent of New England was re- 
tained that day for the defense of Burton. When 
they had examined the circumstantial evidence 
against Burton they frankly told Jack Dunlap 
that an alibi, positively established, alone could 
save the accused man. 

The unselfish sailor sought the seclusion of his 
cabin on board his ship, that lay at anchor in the 
harbor, there to ponder over the tenible infor- 
mation given him by the leading lawyers of Bos- 

Uncomplainingly the man had resigned his 
hope of the greatest joy that could come to his 



strong, unselfish soul — Lucy's love. For the sake 
of her whom he loved he had concealed his suf- 
fering. He had smothered the sorrow that well 
nigh wrenched the heart out of his bosom, that 
he might minister to her in the hour of her men- 
tal affliction. He had shed his blood in shielding 
with his breast the man whom she had selected 
in his stead. All this he had done as ungrudg- 
ingly and gladly as he had tended her slightest 
bidding when as wee maid she had ruled him. 

Love demanded of this great heart the final 
and culminating sacrifice. Could he, would he 
offer up his honor on the altar of his love? 

To this knight by right of nature, honor and 
truth were dearer far than his blood or his life. 
Would he surrender the one prize he cherished 
highest for his hopeless love's sake? 

"I will swear that you were aboard my ship 
with me every hour of the night on which the 
crime of which you stand accused was commit- 
ted. An absolute alibi alone can save you. May 
God forgive you! May God forgive me! and 
may the people of Massachusetts pardon 

Perjured Jack Bitmap." 



Such was the letter sent by the sailor, by 
well paid and trusty hand, to the successful suitor 
for Lucy's hand, now closely mewed within the 
prison walls of Boston's strongest jail. 

Could any man's love be greater than the love 
of him who sent that letter? 



THE court room was crowded, not only 
by the casual visitors to such places, 
who are ever in search of satisfaction to 
their morbid. curiosity, but also by the most fash- 
ionable of Boston's elite society. 

The preliminary examination in the case of the 
Commonwealth vs. Walter Burton was on the 
docket for hearing that day. 

Nearly a month had elapsed since the arrest; 
all that an unlimited amount of money could ac- 
complish had been done to ameliorate the terrible 
position of the prisoner. More than a million 
dollars was offered in bail for the accused, and 
it was hoped that by a preliminary examination 
such a strong probability of the establishment of 
an alibi could be presented, that the Court would 
make an order permitting the acceptance of bail 
for the appearance of the accused after the re- 
port of the Grand Jury. 



Neither old John Dunlap nor Burton's wife 
was present. Jack had insisted that they must 
not be in the court-room when he was called upon 
to give his evidence. 

Lieutenant Thomas Maxon, bronzed, stalwart, 
and serious, sat beside his friend Jack Dunlap 
among the witnesses for the defense. 

With a face of ghastly white, Jack Dunlap, his 
arm still in a sling, stared straight before him, 
heedless of the stir and flutter around him while 
the audience was waiting the appearance of the 
judge and the accused. 

There was a look of desperate resolve and defi- 
ance on Burton's face as he entered the court- 
room between two officers and took his seat at 
the counsel table behind the lawyers who ap- 
peared for the defense. 

The prosecuting attorney proceeded, when the 
case was called, to present the case for the Com- 
monwealth with the coldness and emotionless 
precision that marks the movements of an expert 
surgeon as he digs and cuts among the vitals of a 
subject on the operating table. 

Chapman was much embarrassed and very ner- 



• jus on the witness stand: his testimony was 

fairly dragged from his livid, unwilling lips : he 
interjected every doubt and possible suspicion 
that might weigh against his evidence and weak- 
en the case :: the Commonwealth. When he left 
the stand he staggered like one intoxicated as 
he walked back to his seat among the witnesses. 

When the case of the people was closed, the 
leading counsel for the defense, one most [earned 
in the law. arose and, making a few well-chosen 
introductory remarks, turned to a hailir: and said. 

"Call Captain John Durdap." 

For the first time in his life Tack Durdap scent- 
ed afraid to look men in the eyes. Neither glanc- 
ing right nor left, he strode with a determined 
air to the witness stand and took itis seat. His 
face wore the hue of death. His jaws were so 
clamped together that they seemed bo crush his 
teeth between them. 

They asked his name, age and occupation and 
then his whereabout on the night of the crime 
for which the prisoner stood accus 

The witness made answer brief. each of 

these questions without removing his gaze From 



the wall above the heads of the audience, and 
seemed collecting himself for an ordeal yet to 

"Who was with you on board your ship, the 
'Adams,' that night?" was the next question of 
the lawyer for the defense. 

"Stop! Do not answer, Jack!" came in clear, 
commanding' tones from the mouth of the pris- 
oner as he sprang to his feet. His lawyers about 
him tried to pull him down into his chair, but he 
struggled and shook himself free and stood where 
all could see him. 

Burton looked around him defiantly at the as- 
sembled crowd in the court-room, holding up his 
hand with palm turned toward Jack, in protest 
against his giving answer to the last question. 
Then, throwing back his head, he said in a loud 
and steady voice, 

"I must and do protest against this further 
sacrifice in my behalf on the part of that noble, 
generous, grand man on the stand. Already he has 
far exceeded the belief of the most credulous in 
sacrificing himself for those whom he loves. That 
I may prevent this last and grandest ofiering, the 



honor of that brave man, I tell you all that I am 
guilty of the crime as charged, and further, I 
hurl into your teeth the fact that by your accursed 
affectation of social equality between the White 
and Negro races, which can never exist, you are 
responsible in part for my crime, and you are 
wholly answerable for much agony to the most 
innocent and blameless of mortals on earth. 
Your canting, maudlin, sentimental cry of social 
intercourse between the races has caused wrong, 
suffering, sorrow, crime, and now causes my 

As Burton ceased speaking he swiftly threw a 
powder between his lips and quickly swallowed it. 

The audience, judge, lawyers, bailiffs, all sat 
still, chained in a trance of astonishment as the 
accused man uttered this unexpected phillipic 
against a sometime tradition of New England, 
and likewise pronounced his guilt by this open 
and voluntary confession. 

None seemed to realize that the prisoner's 
speech was also his valedictory to life, until they 
saw him reel, and, ere the nearest man could reach 
him, fall, face downward, upon the court-room 
floor, dead. 



Like the last ray of the setting sun, Burton's 
expiring speech and deed had been the parting 
gleam of the nobility begotten by the blood of the 
superior race within his veins, and reflected on 
the bright surface of the civilization and culture 
of the white race. The predominance of animal- 
ism in the negro nature precludes the possibility 
of suicide in even the extremest cases of con- 
scious debasement. Suicide is almost unknown 
among the negro race. 

"Chapman found dead at his desk in the of- 
fice ! My God ! What more must I bear in my 
old age! Oh! God, have mercy upon an old 
man !" 

Poor old John Dunlap fell upon Jack's shoul- 
der and wept from very weakness and misery, 
and so the sailor supported and 'held him until the 
paroxysm of wretchedness had passed ; then he 
gently led the broken old gentleman to the easiest 
chair in the parlor of the Dunlap house and 
begged him to sit down and compose his over- 
wrought feelings. 

"You say, Jack, that the porter found 'him 



seated at his desk this morning; that he thought 
he was sleeping, as my faithful employee's head 
rested on his arms, and that it was only when he 
touched him and noticed how cold he was that he 
realized that Chapman was dead. My God ! 
How awful !" groaned the distressed speaker. 

"Yes, sir, and wnen the head clerks of the dif- 
ferent departments arrived and raised him they 
saw lying on his desk before him ready for pub- 
lication the notice of the closing of the business 
career of the house of J. Dunlap, and they took 
from the dead man's stiffened fingers the long 
record of the firm to which he clung even in 

"I saw the poor fellow's face grow pale and 
his features twitch as if in pain when I told him 
that the career of our 'house was ended. I urged 
him to rest here until he was better, but he only 
shook his head and hurried from my presence." 

Mr. Dunlap spoke sadly and after a pause of 
several minutes, during which an expression of 
deepest melancholy settled over his countenance, 
he continued sorrowfully, 

"Poor David Chapman, good and faithful ser- 



vant! He loved the old house of 'J. Dunlap' 
with all of his soul, and when he knew that the 
end had come, it broke that intense heart of his." 

"Why did you determine, sir, to take the old 
sign down, and close those doors that for two 
hundred years have stood open every day except 
holidays?" asked Jack, full of sympathy for 
the grief-stricken kinsman 'beside him. 

"I cannot bear the sight of my loved boyhood's 
home, dear old Boston, at present. It has been 
the scene of so much agony and horror for me 
within the past year that I must, for my own 
sake, get away from the agonizing associations 
all about me here. Lucy absolutely must be taken 
away now that her mind is restored to its normal 
condition, or she will surely go mad from weep- 
ing and grieving. As soon as she is able to travel 
we shall go to Europe to be absent months, — 
years. I am an old man, maybe I shall never see 
Boston again." The old man stopped to choke 
back a sob and then said, 

"It is hard, very hard, on me that I should be 
obliged to close the house my brother James loved 
so well, and that has been a glory to the Dunlap 



name for two centuries. It may break my heart, 
too, lad." 

The white head sunk on the heaving chest and 
an audible sob now shook the bended frame. 
Jack watched his good godfather with manly 
tears filling his honest eyes. Then, laying his 
hand softly on the old man's arm, he said, 

"Cousin John, would you feel less wretched if 
I promised to leave the sea, and do my best to 
keep the old sign, 'J. Dunlap/ in its place in the 
crooked street where it has hung for two hun- 
dred years ?" 

John Dunlap raised his head almost as soon as 
his namesake began to speak, and when Jaxk had 
finished he had him around the neck and was 
hugging the sturdy sailor, crying all the time, 

"God bless you, boy! Will you do that for 
your old kinsman? Will you, lad?" And then 
wringing Jack's hand he cried, 

"A young J. Dunlap succeeds the old ; all the 
ships, trade and the capital remain as before! 
You and Lucy are sole heirs to everything ! The 
chief clerks will shout for joy to know that the 
house still goes on ; they will help you faithfully 


3f UCY I have always loved you." 

Page 340 


for love of my brother James and me. And oh ! 
Jack, when I am far away it will make my heart 
beat easier to know that the Dunlap red ball 
barred with black still floats upon the ocean, and 
that the old sign is still here; tfrat I was not the 
one of my long line to take it from its place." 




Five times has Boston Common, old, honored 
in history's story, slept beneath its snowy coun- 
terpane, all damaskeened by winter sunbeam's 

Five times have brooks in Yankee vales burst 
icy chains to flee, with gladsome shouts of merri- 
ment, on joyous journey to the sea. 

Five times have Massachusetts hills and dales 
been garbed in cloak of emerald, embroidered 
wide in gay designs of daffodils and daisies since 
the grand old Commonwealth was shocked by 
the commission of a horrid crime by one called 

An old sign still swings before an even older 
building, in one of Boston's most crooked streets. 
"J- Dunlap, Shipping and Banking," is what 
the passersby may read on the old sign. 

Sometimes an old man is seen to enter the 
building above the door of which is suspended 
this sign ; he is much bent and wnite of hair, but 



sturdy still, despite some four-score years. All 
men of Boston accord great respect to this hand- 
some old gentleman. 

The man who is head and manager of all the 
business done within the old building where that 
sign is seen, has the tanned and rugged look of 
one who had long gazed upon the bright surface 
of the sea. While he is only seen in landsmen's 
dress, it seems that clothing of a nautical cut 
would best befit his stalwart figure. 

This head man at J. Dunlap's office is cavalier- 
in-chief to three old ladies, with whom he often 
is seen driving in Boston's beautiful suburbs; 
one of these white-haired old dames he addresses 
as "Mother," another as "Mrs. Church," and the 
most withered one of the three he calls "Miss 

He has been seen, too, with a sweet, sad, yet 
very lovely young woman in whose glorious 
crown of gold-brown hair silver silken threads 
run in and out. 

A big, jovial naval man periodically drives up 
before the old sign and shouting out, "Jack, come 
here and see the latest !" exhibits a baby to the 



sailor-looking manager. The last time he roared 
in greatest glee, "It's a girl, named Bessie, for 
her mother." 

Kind harvest moon, send forth your tenderest 
glances, that fall betwixt the tall elm's branches 
on that sad, sweet face that lies so restfully 
against a sailor's loyal bosom. 

"Lucy, I have always loved you !" Jack Dun- 
lap kissed his "Little Princess" and put his strong 
arms around her. 

Everlasting time, catch up those words, and 
bear them on forever, as motto of most faithful 

An old man, standing at a window in the Dun- 
lap mansion, watched the man and woman in the 
moonlight between the elm trees, and what he 
witnessed seemed to bring a great joy to his good, 
kind heart, for he reverently raised his eyes to 
heaven and said, 

"My God, I thank Thee !"